The Good Fall Harder From Grace
by thewindsong
Summary: Murderer. Thief. Sheik's been called worse. It's what he has to do to get by. It's Hyrule's Underground doing what it does best: thriving. But when a new job comes in from an unknown source to kill the Prince of Hyrule, Sheik's world falls. Prophecies. Schemes. Evil. And all he has to face it with is Link, the stupid prince he was supposed to kill and ended up kidnapping instead.
1. Prologue

**********EXTENDED SUMMARY:**

Murderer. Thief. Cheat. Sheik's been called worse. It's just what he has to do to get by. It's business. It's Hyrule's underground doing what it does best: thriving. He hates the terms 'mercenary,' and 'assassin,' even if that _is_ what he's become. After all, he's survived this long by taking immoral, unethical, and often nefarious jobs for the pay. And besides, the money goes to people who need it, so what's the harm? But when a new job comes in from an anonymous source to kill the Prince of Hyrule, his plans don't go at all the way he intended. In fact, what he thought of the world very quickly starts to crumble around him. Schemes. Prophecies. Lies. Mystery. Evil. And all he has to face it with is Link: the stupid little prince that he was hired to kill and somehow ended up accidentally and impulsively kidnapping.

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**********Happy to FINALLY be posting the first chapter of my new fic, 'The Good Fall Harder From Grace.' As said in the summary, this is a M!Sheik/Link fic, and yes there will be slash. I like to think of this as an AU twist on canon, but that's being too generous. It's mostly just AU; but it will be good, and heart-wrenching, and exciting all the same, so I encourage you to read it! Because Sheik is a badass assassin with a dark past and Link is a prince with a frightening future.**

**********It's taken me long enough to get this up and started, but with luck, I hope to be posting right around once a week, time permitting. Thank you for coming here to read it!**

**********Before the story begins, I'd like to note that there will be some TRIGGER warnings for future chapters, having do do with violence, rape, and some language warnings as well. **

**********Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Legend of Zelda. All other original characters belong to me.**

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**The Good Fall Harder From Grace**

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**Prologue**

There was a dead man lying on the floor.

...And Sheik was sitting there beside him, whittling away his time until the manservant came back. He twirled a small dagger in his fingers, watching the stained blade catch the light falling in from the window.

"Are you done in here yet?"

Sheik glanced up from the bloodied blade he'd been fixating on. He'd stopped twirling it as soon as he'd heard the voice.

The man who had gotten him into the building was standing in the doorway, staring down with mild surprise at the body on the ground. Why he was acting surprised, Sheik wasn't quite sure. This manservant standing before him knew very well of why Sheik had been welcomed into that house. His wide eyes trailed over the bloodied corpse and then back up to Sheik's, the most peculiar expression on his face; Sheik couldn't place it or give it a name. The man shrugged when Sheik continued to stare, as if to say 'well, what can you do?'

"You were supposed to leave after it was done," he said finally.

Sheik shook his head slowly, standing up off the floor and tucking the knife back into the pocket of his coat. "I was just leaving."

"Doesn't look like it," the man muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked nervous. His face was flushed pale, and his mouth was twisted into a grimace. "You were hired to make the kill for my master and then leave. That's what I was told."

"I _am_ leaving," Sheik hissed, growing irritated. But he couldn't leave just yet. He had one last thing to do. He turned around and shouldered past the man in the doorway, entering back into the hallway of the manor house. The man trailed behind him, obviously very keen on getting him out of his Master's house.

"Your _Master_ has yet to pay me for my services," Sheik muttered, glancing back at the man. It was true enough, he supposed. But he _never_ got paid until a job was finished. That's just how it was done, and this job was only halfway completed. 'Frame my manservant,' the employer had said. Sheik distinctly remembered the callous wave of his hand as he condemned his servant to life in the prisons. But if Sheik could do one thing really well, it was lie, and he _needed_ to stall, because he couldn't leave just yet. He had _framing_ to do. "I kill his brother for him, and he doesn't even have the decency to pay me up front for the task?"

The man snorted. "Well, he's a Lord, isn't he? Not a very decent man, when you think about it. Sitting on all his money like that when there are families living in the streets. That's where my family would end up if it wasn't for this job, sure enough."

"No," Sheik agreed offhandedly. "He isn't very decent. Not by far." He stopped walking, hand going into his pocket to wrap around the hilt of the dagger.

"Well, don't stop here!" the man nearly wailed, sounding like he was close to panicking. "You have to get out! You've killed a man, for the love of the goddesses! I have to call the soldiers here, so go!"

Sheik turned to face him, simply... resigning himself to what he had to do. "Actually," he murmured, almost in a bored tone. "I believe your Master's instructions said that _I_ was to call the law here."

The man faltered, moving back a step. "What?"

Sheik raised an eyebrow haughtily. "You've just killed a man," he said flatly. "Your master called me here to discuss business, and while he and I were discussing important matters in his study, we both heard a shout come from down the hall." He fixed the manservant with a condescending look. "What could it have been, now?"

The man started shaking his head, his eyes having gone as wide as coins. "No. No, I—I didn't, I—"

Sheik closed the distance between them, bearing down on him like a predator closing in on its prey. "In reaction to the scream," he continued, "Your master and I came running down the hallway to investigate. And what was it that we saw?" Sheik paused. He was toe to toe with the man now, using his advantage in height to bear menacingly down on him.

"No," the man squeaked, shrinking away as Sheik backed him against the wall.

Sheik smirked, shrugging. "Yes. _You_ killed him. Your Master's own brother." He shook his head sadly. He really hated when it came to this. "But before you could run, I wounded you." Sheik pulled the knife from his pocket and shoved the man up against the wall, pressing an arm into his throat to hold him still. Bringing the knife into view slowly, Sheik gave the man a sad expression. He pressed the blade, still caked with drying blood, into the skin of his cheek and cut a long, shallow line. Not enough to really hurt; just enough to prove his story. The man whimpered as he stared at Sheik in horror, mouth trembling and eyes full of fear.

Sheik took a step back, letting him off the wall. The man nearly fell to his knees, barely catching himself on a low side table as he coughed and sputtered and wiped at the blood oozing up from his cheek. He stared at his crimson hands in shock, almost as if he had never seen blood before and couldn't fathom what it was that was staining his hands.

Sheik watched him with a schooled expression, dropping the knife to the ground and crossing his arms. "What was your name?" he asked.

The man looked up at him then, eyes wide and confused, and Sheik saw tears on his cheeks, mixing with the blood. It had to have stung. It struck him in that moment just how very young this man probably was; most likely not yet out of his twenties. Still older than Sheik perhaps, but by no more than a few years, surely? Good goddesses...

"My name is Ander." He lifted a shaking hand up to Sheik, reaching for him. "_Please_. I have a_ family_. I can't go to the prisons!"

A sudden pang of guilt hit Sheik. It hit him hard. He was actually feeling... _sympathy_. It'd been such a long time since he'd felt any remorse for the actions his life forced him to make. He felt almost... _sick_.

_But_, whenever this emotion did come about in him, Sheik knew what to do to ease his mind. He just reminded himself of all the good the money from the jobs he took did for the poor in the kingdom. That's where most of it went, after all—to starving families and the homeless—and it did much more good in the form of a hot meal for an emaciated child than it did weighing down the pockets of some nobleman's silk trousers. He just... Sometimes he hated that this—like this thing with Ander—was the only way he knew how to get that well-needed money. He might have even been tempted to get a normal, respectable job if any of them paid a halfway decent amount. But really, even there he was kidding himself. No one would give a job to somebody who had spent time in the prisons. And he certainly had.

If this bloody kingdom knew how to take care of its people and not leave them to starve, he wouldn't have ended up living this kind of life at all. He'd still be living with his mother, maybe; or at least somewhere near to her. Perhaps he'd have been a farmhand. Something simple sounded nice. But no, he was a killer. A bloody fucking _'get paid by the rich to kill or steal from whomever they want to feed the poor because the King of a Hyrule can't see the suffering that is happening right under his nose and is spending all of the Kingdom's wealth invading other kingdoms for their land_.' Yeah, that was what his life summed up to these days.

Ander had a family; he'd just said so. He was the kind of person that Sheik would normally be trying to _help._ The man was right, though. He couldn't go to the prisons; not if he wanted his family to be okay.

Well, Sheik couldn't help everybody.

"Why?" he asked finally. Ander didn't respond, and Sheik had to wonder how long he had been inside his own head, thinking. The man remained on the floor, rocking himself and holding back sobs, tears dripping from his face. "Why?" Sheik asked again, walking over and squatting down next to him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why can't you go to the prisons? I was sent there much younger than you are now." He stood back up to his feet, pausing and casting a cold glance over his shoulder. "You will survive the ordeal, I assure you." But he couldn't make that promise, could he? And he certainly couldn't promise it to the man's family, because he didn't _know_. In all honesty, Sheik had been _lucky_ to have survived the four years that he had spent in that accursed place. He would have to make sure to locate Ander's family after this was all done with and give them something to keep them going.

"But..." Ander squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head.

Ander reminded Sheik a lot of himself... Back before everything had... happened. Sure, he looked nothing like him, what with Ander's hair being a deep chestnut brown that hung about his face lankly, and his eyes a bright hazel that were still leaking hot, heavy tears. But... the hopelessness in his expression, and the fear, and the... the vulnerability... It all just made Sheik sadder.

"I have a little girl," Ander pleaded. "And my wife and I just had a baby boy, and they _need _me. She can't put food in their mouths on her own!"

"Look," Sheik said sharply, glancing back. "It's either they take you, or they take me, and I'm not going back." Sheik turned around to face him. "It's not my fault your master is a complete bastard that felt the need to pull you into his affairs. I'm just following his instructions. I'm not heartless, you know," he said softly. "I do what I have to do to get by; and no, I'm not above doing some very bad things to stay afloat, but I'm not _heartless_." Even as he said it, Sheik knew the words sounded ridiculous coming out of a killer's mouth. He wasn't quite sure what he was trying to prove.

Ander sniffed loudly, looking up at Sheik from under his dark, wet, clotted eyelashes. "Then why are you _doing _this?" he whimpered. "I have little mouths to feed! I can't—"

"I have my reasons," Sheik interrupted, turning away. "And they're no business of yours." He brushed some invisible dust off the tail of his coat, wanting to be free of the cold, dusty manor house. "I'm going to go call for the soldiers." He fixed Ander with a stern gaze. "I suggest you run."

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Ander ended up being arrested. He wasn't fast or clever enough to escape, Sheik guessed.

Sheik stood in the street with at least a hundred other spectators; including Ander's wife and daughter and baby boy, as well as Ander's Master, the man who had hired Sheik for the killing, as they carried the body out. He kept quiet, looking properly upset and surprised at the death, playing his part. After the dead man had been carried away, the soldiers put Ander in shackles and threw him into the back of a cart, bound for the prisons.

After slipping Ander's wife a small bag of rupees, not bothering to explain himself when she asked, Sheik left the city within the hour, bound for the north. Ander had shaken him. Sheik needed to be strong and unflinching while doing his work. He had been less than professional today. Professionalism was deadly important when making a living off of your skill at theft and murder. Sheik always kept his jobs very tight and clean. But this particular job today, a Lord paying to have his brother killed for sleeping with his wife, had been messier than Sheik liked to keep things. Yes, he had gotten away without suspicion; and yes, he had been paid a hefty sum that would do quite a lot of good, but... he had _hesitated_. He had hesitated after hearing the sob story of that man, Ander.

In Sheik's line of work, you couldn't afford hesitation.

You needed to act swiftly and have a sharp mind, like the fall of the blade of a guillotine. You needed to be fit and ready for anything that might throw itself in your way.

You needed money, and to be on the good side of the people who ruled over Hyrule's Underground.

Sheik had and was all of those things. He _knew_ why he had hesitated during the job. He had seen his past in Ander. He had _been_ Ander, all those years ago. Frightened, vulnerable, and nigh-on hysterical with fear. He'd been a boy then, sure, but seeing his old self reincarnate in that man had been... it had awoken certain... m_emories_ in him that he really did _not_ care to remember.

Sheik didn't often feel remorse for the things he did. Most of what he did was stealing from the rich for the rich, or killing the rich for the rich.

The wealthy were a disease on the land. They hoarded their money, sitting in their fancy mansions and guzzling their fancy wines while there were more than a few families out there who couldn't afford to eat or feed their children. Who really cared if a few nobles were dying? And every once in a while, a good man like Ander would get hurt, but it didn't happen often. Sheik knew he wasn't the only mercenary, assassin, whatever you wanted to call it about Hyrule, either. There were others. He'd seen and spoken to a few. There weren't many—you didn't last long in this business unless you were either incredibly skilled or incredibly careful, and Sheik was both—but they were out there. You could go to places, looking for the familiar shape of the inverted Triforce, flipped on its point, etched into a door frame or carved into a stone, and you would seek refuge there. That was the symbol of the Underground. The people in those places were the people who were willing to help and house people like _him_. It was only natural that others who lived the same life as Sheik would seek refuge in those places as well, and so sometimes he met others. A criminal brethren, if you will.

It was in one of those places, in the next city over, that he was propositioned by a man in a dark cloak. A man who told him that his services were required in Castle Town. A man who gave him directions to a tavern that would bear the inverted Triforce in its door, where he could get more information on what he was supposed to do. A man who had pressed a small bag of rupees into his hand and left directly afterward, not even giving Sheik a second to so much as ask who he was.

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**Next chapter will be up in a week! They're going to start out short as I continue to get my bearings on this WIP, but will grow longer as we get deeper into the story. And this will be a long fic. So stay tuned, any comments/tips in review/PM form are really appreciated, and thank you for reading!**


	2. Anonymity

**So, if you're confused that this chapter, like the last one, ALSO says 'Chapter One,' don't worry. I went back and changed the previous one to read 'Prologue.' It was confusing to me when I went to post this chapter, so I assume it might have been a wee bit confusing to some of you. But probably not. This is just me being obsessive. Please forgive me. :)**

**********Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Legend of Zelda. All other original characters belong to me.**

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**The Good Fall Harder From Grace**

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**Chapter One - Anonymity**

The inverted Triforce, turned onto its point, and etched into the frame of the door just below eye level was a dead giveaway.

This was the place.

Sheik pushed the heavy wooden door open, stepping inside the warm, dimly lit tavern. His entrance made no impact on the other guests inside. After all, this place was like any other tavern, under pretenses. Not everyone—in fact, not many—would understand the significance of the secret mark on the door. Many would just see it as a blasphemous piece of graffiti and move on about their lives. Only a few here and there knew of its real significance.

Sheik pulled the dark cowl down from around his face and lowered the hood of his tailcoat as he made his way to the bar. There was a young man behind it, pouring drinks, looking tired and bored. Sheik stopped before him, waiting patiently until the young man gave up trying to ignore him and simply scowled him down instead. "Can I _help_ you?" he asked, voice so dry it was like taking poison.

Sheik inclined his head, watching him carefully. "I think so, yes."

The young man rolled his pretty brown eyes and turned to walk away. Sheik's hand shot out, quick as a snake bite, and caught his arm in a tight grip. "Wait," he said. The young man looked pointedly at the hand around his arm, and then back up at Sheik. He raised his eyebrows expectantly, his interest having finally become piqued, it seemed.

"What do you want?" he asked quietly. "A drink?"

There was only one thing that needed to be said. "I was told to come here," Sheik murmured lowly, removing his hand. He took a covert look around the room before leaning in closer, ducking his head and whispering, "_Paid_ to come here." If this boy had any connection to the man who ran this tavern, then perhaps he would know the significance of who Sheik was. "I'm here for a reason," he whispered, pausing to smile. Good to keep up an act of benign innocence, after all. "And you can get me that drink later."

The tiniest of grins passed over the young man's lips. He threw the ratty bar towel that had been draped over his shoulder down onto the counter. "Very well," he said, inclining his head. "You're obviously someone of importance. I'll take you to see my father. Follow me."

Sheik took one last look around the loud, dark, smoky room of drinking men before trailing after the young man, following him up a very narrow and creaky flight of stairs set into the back of the room, hidden behind a curtain. The stairs creaked something fierce as they climbed up them, making the sudden silence seem even louder and intrusive than the tavern below them had been.

"What type are you, then?" the boy asked him once they had reached the top of the stairs and turned a sharp left down a dark hallway. His eyes met Sheik's in the darkness.

"Aren't you a bit young to be dealing in such underhanded affairs?" Sheik replied curtly, facing forward again as they walked. He knew exactly what the boy meant by what 'type' he was. It meant, in plain terms: 'what sort of illegal things do you do that would warrant a meeting with the man who owns this tavern?'

"I'm eighteen, and that's old enough for most things," he replied curtly, giving Sheik a pointed look that ended in a mischievous, attractive smile. "Besides, you don't look much older. You _are_ here to see my father, aren't you?" he asked. "You're not wasting our time? Because he's already got someone in there with him."

"I'm a fair bit older than eighteen," Sheik muttered petulantly. "And of course I'm here to see him. He'd had no idea that this _boy_ was the owner's son. "I _know_ where I am. I was asked to come here. Like I said, I was _paid_ to come here. Now quit it with the questions."

"Ooh, you must be important then." There was a tone of mockery to his voice as he stopped them in front of a dark oak door that had a line of light pooling out from the bottom. A couple of low voices could be heard coming from the other side. Sheik looked at him expectantly, but the boy made no move to open the heavy door. He leaned against the wall instead, crossing his arms as he stared at Sheik.

Sheik itched under the scrutiny. He'd become far too used to never being seen when he could help it, and being stared at and _judged_ by those eyes had him more than uncomfortable. _Benign innocence_, he kept telling himself, pushing away the urge to lash out at the examination.

"I thought all of the Sheikah were dead," the young man said after a moment.

Sheik's eyes flashed up to meet his even gaze, surprised and wary. No one knew anything about the Sheikah anymore. He took a moment to reassess this boy, from his curly brown hair to the dagger that he could now see peeking out from the side of his vest.

"And I thought that children weren't supposed to play with knives," he countered, gesturing quite obviously to the bulge in the side of the vest with a raised eyebrow.

The young man merely shrugged, as if he weren't at all surprised by Sheik's vigilance. "Got to have some way to protect myself, don't I? Besides, it's not meant for you. I work in a tavern filled with loud, stinking men who _do_ in fact get quite handsy when they've already struck out with every woman in the room."

Sheik deadpanned. Honestly, on his fucking knees in front of the goddesses, he just _didn't_ _care_. "Are you going to open that door?"

"Smuggler," he said suddenly. It was a guess. "Is that right? Or... no, that isn't it," he said, watching Sheik's face closely for any reaction or telltale sign. He wasn't going to get any, though. Sheik's expression was stone. "You can't be a deserter, either," he continued. "The Hylian army would never have taken in a Sheikah, and you don't carry yourself like a soldier."

"Open the door," Sheik said lowly.

The young man's eyes went as wide as coins, and his mouth formed into a little 'O' of surprise. "_No_," he breathed after a moment. "You're not one of _those_, are you? Coming _here_? So close to the bloody Crown that... Goddesses, mate, you're begging to be caught, coming to Castle Town, do you know that?"

"I can take care of myself," Sheik growled, crossing his arms. "This city is no different than any other."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, except there's probably a nice, large bounty sitting on your head, and the security here is tighter than anywhere else in the kingdom because this is the city where the bloody fucking _King of Hyrule_ sits his velvet arse," he said. "To think of what they would _do_ to the likes of you if they ever got their hands on you." He seemed to take a moment to really look at Sheik then, taking all of him in. "To think of who you've killed..." He shook his head, rubbing his eyes, and a sigh escaped past his lips. He looked back at Sheik. "What're you doing here, then? Already have a job, or a target, or whatever it is you lot call it?"

Sheik had had quite enough of this. He lunged forward, forcing the young man against the wall, crowding him in and holding his shoulders down with both of his hands. "_You're _about to be my next target if you don't shut your cracking mouth and open up that door _now_. Good goddesses, boy," Sheik hissed. "Your father practically runs the Underground in this city. The biggest city in the bloody kingdom! How is it that he hasn't taught you to_ not_ ask questions?"

Two hands pressed into his chest. The boy smirked. "Mate, he's the one who taught me to _always_ ask questions."

Sheik snorted, tearing himself away and letting the boy off of the wall. He'd had enough. He made for the closed door.

"I'll be wanting you for that drink, later," the boy said after him as Sheik threw the door open.

Inside, the room was bathed in a quiet, warm light. Two men were sitting in comfortable armchairs, facing the crackling fireplace, which was set into the right wall. One of them turned back to glance at Sheik, nodding to him. "Ah, welcome." His eyes moved to something behind Sheik. "Close the door behind you, Andrew."

Sheik didn't have to turn around to know that the boy-Andrew, apparently-had followed him inside the room. He'd known it even before the man in the chair had said anything.

Andrew moved around him, his hand grazing the back of Sheik's as he passed. Sheik pulled his hand away with a useless glare at the back of his head. "I think this is the one you've been waiting for, Father," Andrew said. He turned back to smirk at Sheik, raising his eyebrows. "He's certainly got a temper."

"No, son, you're just an irritation to the world," the man said with a fond smile, laughing loudly. He was a bit round around the middle, perhaps; and he was losing his hair to age, but he had an aura about him that filled the room with warmth at almost the same rate as the fire. Sheik immediately judged this man to be of good character. "How stupid do you have to be to antagonize somebody like him?" The man gestured with his thumb to where Sheik stood.

Andrew shrugged, sporting a sure and cocky grin as he sat down on the arm of his father's chair. "Plonker started it," he said, looking directly at Sheik.

"_I_ contacted him, actually," the other man in the room said, looking distastefully at Andrew before turning back to give Sheik a cursory glance. "Or rather, I paid someone to contact him." He was skeleton-thin and nearly bald and gave Sheik the distinct impression of a rat. "Rumor of you has reached my ears."

"I can't say I'm happy about that," Sheik answered, subtly looking around the room, memorizing its features, possible weapons, and escape routes.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't be," the man said. "Your kind likes to keep very anonymous, as I've come to understand." Andrew's father and the Rat Man exchanged meaningful looks. "But," he continued, "I represent a person who is _very_ interested in becoming your client."

Something about this whole deal was rubbing Sheik the wrong way. "A person who _also_ seeks to remain anonymous?" he asked, already having caught on to the one major deal breaker this job was going to present. He didn't do anonymous. If the fucker wanted someone dead, then they damn well better have the balls to show their face.

Rat Man's face twisted up into a wicked smile. "How ever did you ever guess?" he mocked.

Sheik bristled, his pride taking a blow, and took a heavy step forward. "Do you forget who you're dealing with and what it is I do?" he hissed in a low voice. "What do you expect to achieve by mocking me other than death?" He was ready to turn around and leave the inn right then.

"No, no. My most sincere apologies. You misunderstand." The man's eyes ran up and down him. "You're just..." He coughed a small laugh into his fist. "Well, _younger_ than I expected."

Sheik was halfway to simply killing _Rat Man_ rather than whomever this anonymous client had in mind. He was twenty-three, thank you very much, and that was plenty old enough for _everything_.

"And _yet_ word of me has managed to reach your ears from across the kingdom," Sheik retorted, crossing his arms. "It seems my age does not hinder me the way your self-entitled manner does." Across the room, Andrew bent his head and snickered into his chest. The Rat Man in the chair cast the boy another dirty look, and his father cuffed the back of his head. Anyways, for Sheik, looking young was sort of the point. No one would suspect a twenty-something of being a trained killer. They would think someone his age too young; too green and inexperienced.

"Again, my apologies," the man said, not a bit put off by Sheik's overt dislike of him. "But to get back to business, as they say, the person I represent is _very_ eager to hire your for your services."

"I don't do anonymous jobs," Sheik said immediately. This whole meeting was already beginning to stink of underhandedness and deceit as well as proving to be a titanic waste of time.

"The individual I represent is willing to pay you a large sum of money, _up front_, if you perform this task for them."

Sheik watched as Andrew and his father exchanged a surprised look. A war was raging on inside his head. No one _ever_ paid up front. It was stupid to, really; because what's to keep an assassin around when they've already been given the money that lured them in to begin with? You couldn't expect a dog to do a trick _after _it's been given a treat. So, so much about this job was screaming at him to turn tail and run the other way. Instead of leaving, though, he cocked his head, and fixed the man with a careful gaze. Because the money wasn't really about him; it was for the people, and if the client was willing to pay up front, it surely must be a large sum. "How much?"

"Fifty-thousand rupees," Rat Man said coolly, checking his fingernails and buffing them on his shirt as if he were chatting about the weather. Sheik, on the other hand, felt weak in the knees. It was so much... It could do _so much_.

But he pulled himself back together quickly and snorted with derision. "Who could possibly afford to pay that out?"

The man gave him a sly smile. "Oh, I'm sure I don't know."

Dare he agree? It seemed like so much risk, but the rewards were _astronomical_. He looked at the ground, shuffling his feet. What to do? If he were to follow his instincts, he would have left that place right then and never looked back. He'd been through too much to believe he could just trust the fates. But... fifty-thousand rupees... That would be enough to run a poor house for a year, safely get Sheik out of the kingdom—for he'd need to after pulling off a kill that was this big and shady—and sustain him for goddesses know how long. There was so much good Sheik could do with that money, so many people in need who could benefit from it, and all for the low price of one life. Just one. One insignificant, little life. But which life? Who?

Sheik swallowed, glancing up. "What's the job?"

"Simple," Rat Man sniffed, staring at Sheik with the tension of a viper waiting to strike. "Kill the Prince of Hyrule."

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**Look for the next chapter one week from today! Any comments/suggestions are appreciated via review or PM. I rather think things are getting a bit exciting! Thank you for reading!**


	3. The Game

**********I'm awful sorry it took so long to put up this chapter. I've been so sick lately, and so I could not face the editing that this chapter needed. But it's here now, and I really hope you enjoy it!**

**********Link's first chapter! Such excite!**

**********Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Legend of Zelda. All other original characters belong to me.**

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**The Good Fall Harder From Grace**

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**Chapter Two - The Game**

Link sighed happily as the warm, springtime morning breeze tickled him awake. He wrinkled his nose as a few fine strands of hair fell over his face, stirred by the gentle breath of air. He stretched, rolling over to the other side of the large bed, expecting to find more soft, plush covers and downy pillows that he could lose himself to another hour of sleep in. Instead, he found a warm-ish, rather hard lump that muttered for him to 'geroff.'

Oh, yes. He'd forgotten that William had come to bed with him last night.

He hummed quietly, stretching once again as he yawned probably the biggest yawn of his young life. "Why don't _you_ get off?" he snapped back, sitting up against the mountain of sumptuous pillows. He laughed then, because he didn't really mean it. He rather liked William. "After all," he continued, shoving his still half-asleep bed partner. "You seem to be forgetting that you're in _my_ bed."

"Mmm," was William's only reply as he turned his head away, pulling the duvet up over himself to shield out the bright, crisp sunlight leaking through the large window in the far wall.

Link pulled the covers off, looking down and frowning at his nakedness. "You really shouldn't have let me bring you here like I did last night," he said glumly. "Graylin will be cross with me."

"Who's that? Your manservant?" William was sitting up now too, rubbing at his eyes.

Link's frown deepened. "No, Graylin isn't my manservant. Although now that you mention it, Lorum will be angry with me as well."

"Wait." William frowned, scratching his chest. "Who's Lorum?"

Link blinked. Wasn't it obvious? "My manservant."

William's eyes narrowed as he stared at Link. "Your manservant too, my Lord?"

Link wrinkled his nose at the idea, laughing. "No, no." He shook his head. "Haven't you met Lorum? He's old; at least forty. And he's got a wife and two daughters. I would never."

William rolled his eyes. "Like that would stop you."

Link glowered at him, crossing his arms haughtily over his bare chest. "That so _would_ stop me, thank you very much. You obviously don't know very much about me. I have _morals_, William, and as much as you may think it, I am not some sexed-up maniac. Honestly, the way you make me sound! It's only with you and Graylin anyways, you know." Link's mouth creased into a little moue. "Besides, he offered, that's all. And I'm seventeen, not a child anymore. There's no reason why I shouldn't every so often. It's _healthy_."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself, my Lord?" William yawned again, casting an amused look over at him. After seeing Link's scowl, however, his face straightened. "So who's _Graylin_, then? I should get to know about my rival."

Link felt his face flush. He put a hand up to cover his eyes. "I... er, I may have told him in a fit of passion that, er... that he and I were exclusive."

William laughed, turning his face down so that he could look up at Link from underneath his long, black eyelashes. "I think you may have told me that once as well, my Lord."

"You can't be serious!" Link whined, flopping back down on the bed. "I need to stop drinking wine."

William chuckled. "You may not want to swear to that just yet."

Link cocked his head, trying to puzzle out what William meant. He stood up again, scratching his chest and thinking. And then it hit him. "The ball!" he exclaimed. "Right, of course, Zelda's _birthday_! That's next week, isn't it?" He turned back to grin at William, noticing that the man's stare had been fixed very acutely on his bare arse. "Well, of course I'll need to drink for that. It would hardly be any fun otherwise." He practically skipped over to the little bell-pull in the wall, ringing it to call Lorum in to come and dress him. Goddesses, he was _famished. _

He glanced back at William, surprised to see him just _sitting_ there, still in bed, staring at him like some lovesick loon. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "Get dressed! And hurry, before Lorum gets here. I don't want him telling my father about this."

William rolled his eyes, pushing back the duvet. "Right, yeah, because the king doesn't already know that he has a sexual deviant for a son."

Link scowled. "Stop saying that, would you? You could hardly call me a deviant. Besides, I think he's just adamant that I don't create any... er, bastards running around the city," he surmised, watching passively as William pulled his discarded guard's uniform back on.

"I've never heard of you taking any women to bed," he said, looking up as he tugged his pants over his hips and tucked himself inside.

"I don't, really," Link answered back, letting his gaze drift as his mind wandered. "Well, I did, _once or twice_. But no more than that, really. It was last year, and she was the first person I had ever been intimate with. At all." He paused, thinking about that girl and that night. "Laura," he said into the quiet, the name feeling strange on his tongue. He shrugged. "And then my father found out about it and told me that if I made any heirs out of wedlock, he'd castrate me; and he also said if _that_ happened, he'd get his successor from Zelda." William made a noise that sounded something like amusement. "And like I said," Link continued. "You think I do _this,_" he gestured between the two of them, "Much more often than I really do. It's only been about a year that I haven't been a virgin, you know. I was sixteen at the time. It's all been perfectly innocent."

William, having pulled all of his clothes on by then, walked back over to Link, putting his hands on his naked hips and pulling him into an embrace. He leaned forward and caressed the dip of Link's collarbone with rough, warm lips. "One can get up to quite a lot in a year, my Lord," he murmured against Link's skin. "Speaking of which, I don't suppose I'll be seeing you again anytime soon?"

Link sighed, smiling kindly but pulling out of the man's arms. "I don't know," he answered honestly. He kissed the tip of William's nose. "Go on. You have to go, or Lorum will see you leaving down the hallway. I don't want any rumors starting up, and he's a terrible gossip."

Link could tell that William wasn't satisfied with the dismissal; but the man bowed graciously, murmuring "My Lord," before turning and stepping out past the heavy wooden door.

Link breathed a sigh of relief once his room was empty, walking over and slumping down on his bed again, enjoying the feeling of the sunlight and gentle breeze on his bare skin. And more than anything, really, _really_ relishing the moment of silence.

Lorum knocked and entered not long after that. Link's manservant took one look at the rumpled bedding and his nakedness, and sighed wearily. He was clever enough to put the pieces together, and as Link had said to William, he was a terrible gossip. Lovely. Just lovely.

"You'll be needing dressing, then, my Lord," he said tiredly, thankfully refraining from commenting on what Link had so obviously gotten up to last night.

Link glanced at him, brushing back the fringe of hair from his eyes. "I'd like a bath first."

"Of course, my Lord. But your father and your stepmother have called for an audience with you, so it will have to be brief," Lorum answered, handing him a white linen robe. "If you'll follow me, I've already drawn a bath for you."

"Yes, alright," Link answered dully, donning the robe and following after Lorum. He wondered what in all of Nayru's Wisdom his father could be cross with him about today. He hadn't done anything too terrible in the past few weeks, and he'd mostly been doing very well with his lessons. So what could possibly have called for an audience with his father this early in the morning?

* * *

The warm bath did little to quell Link's anxiety about meeting with his father.

He was only seventeen, and wouldn't be of age until his birthday, which was seven months away. He may be the crown prince, but he certainly wasn't king _yet_. He attended his lessons daily, and from them he was learning how to rule the kingdom, but it wouldn't be his time to rule for many, many more years. He was a model prince in every way as well, so what in the world could his father and stepmother possibly have to scold him for? He didn't let the idea even cross his mind that this could be a positive audience. That was moronic. His father was too busy with his new wife to pay much attention to either of his children; so unless he caught wind of one of them doing something completely horrid, he mostly left them alone. No, Link's idiot tutors must have snitched about him dozing off during one of his more boring lessons, or something of the like. Goddesses damn them.

Even though each and every day he was being prepped and whipped up into a proper future king, Link had it quite fixed in his mind that his father would be around forever. The fact that he was the _crown prince _of one of the largest kingdoms in the known world had never really registered in his mind. Sure, he lived like a prince, and he acted like a prince, but he never gave much thought to the future; and the fact that he would one day be sitting on his father's throne, leading Hyrule in his stead was... terrifying. In Link's mind, he couldn't imagine his father dying. It seemed too far-fetched and distant an idea to even entertain. Until that nagging voice in the back of his head told him that it _wasn't _an idea, but an unavoidable fact that just hadn't been written yet.

Once upon a time, he'd thought the same thing of his mother: that she—in all her kindness and warm smiles—would be around forever. Her passing _was_ a fact now, though; not something he could avoid. Her time had come not many years ago. Link wasn't stupid. He knew his father would meet with the goddesses eventually, just as she had, but the king was strong and healthy. Their mother, she had been ill...

It was then that Link realized the bath water he was still sitting in was cold, and that Lorum was no longer poking and prodding him to get him to move as he washed him.

"Are you finished, my Lord?" Lorum asked, a tone of impatience to his voice.

"Yes. My mind got away from me," Link answered, rising and stepping from the bath, dripping water on the stone floor in little pools. He brushed his hair out of his eyes as Lorum worked around him, patting him dry with a soft towel. When he was done, another robe was fitted around him, and he followed Lorum back to his chambers.

Perhaps Link was overworking this in his head. He'd let himself go from thinking his father was cross with him to a complete mental debate and denial of death and his own responsibilities. His mind really _had_ gotten away from him. But he had a lot on his plate. Something in particular was troubling him.

His sister was turning nineteen. And yes, Link was proud and thrilled for her, a thousand times over, but he was also a bit apprehensive. The fact of the matter was that his sister was the very dignified and extraordinarily beautiful princess of a powerful kingdom, and that many suitors had been seeking her hand in marriage even before last year, when she came of age. Link's father hadn't named a husband for her yet, but it was rumored that he had found the perfect suitor for his daughter, and that there would be a surprise handfasting at her birthday party—the ball—that was scheduled to happen in just under a week. Link just hoped his father had chosen wisely, and his sister would be marrying a man that deserved her. Link wasn't very often honest with himself, but he _knew_ he didn't want his sister leaving the castle to go and live with the king of some _other_ land.

She was his best friend. He wanted her _there_, at his side. Hell, when he took the throne, he'd even make her queen, if that were allowed. The Queen Sister, or some other silly name like that. She had far more wisdom than any noblewoman Link would eventually be forced to court and marry. He didn't want to _marry_ his sister—goddesses, just, no—but she would be _such_ an anchor for him if he ever became king. Hell, who was he kidding? _When_ he became king. She would be such a source of _guidance. _Guidance that he very clearly needed.

Hyrule deserved a ruler like Zelda. One who was gracious and merciful, but strong and firm and unflinching in her decisions. Zelda would be better than both Link and his father combined. She was just that special. However, Hyrule was going to get Link instead. His one comfort was knowing that no matter how afraid he was of making a mess of everything his father had built before him, he would face it with a stiff upper lip and the courage to know he would do his very best. His courage was all he really had when facing the heavy future and responsibility that loomed over him; and goddesses knew he was afraid.

Lorum worked around him as he thought, fitting him into all the appropriate layers for a prince. Link honestly didn't mind being dressed by someone else; it quite relaxed him.

So with all the muddled thoughts and sense of dread weighing down his mind, he found himself standing in front of the large, grand doors leading in to the throne room. He shook his head to clear it, looking up at one of the guards stationed outside the doors. Link nodded to him, and the man stepped forward and pushed in the double doors, opening up to the marble path that lead inside.

The throne room was a long, high-ceilinged area that was devoid of all furniture, apart from the King's throne, which sat at the far side of the room. On the stone walls hung tapestries of red and gold, depicting different stories ad events from Hyrule's proud history.

Link walked in at a brisk pace, keeping his eyes set straight forward, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor as he made his way to stand before the enormous wooden throne his father sat in.

"Your Majesties, the Prince to see you," the guard announced, his strong, tenor voice echoing against the spacious walls.

"Father," Link called, jogging the last few paces, coming to stand before the steps leading to the throne. "Have you seen Zelda yet today?" Zelda, yes. Distractions were good. Perhaps he could get his father talking about something else, and then he would forget whatever misbehavior he had called Link in for.

But the King merely smiled, as if he knew exactly what Link was trying to do.

Link's father was very young, as kings came. He was thirty-seven years old and quite handsome for his age. The years had been good to him. He had a thin beard, and was almost always cheerful, apart from when he was making important decisions or scolding his son. He'd gifted both of his children with bright, honey-golden hair and brooding sapphire eyes. And currently, he had a neutral—if not a bit fond—expression on his face.

Behind the throne, stood his father's wife.

Link and Zelda's mother had passed away two years ago, when an illness had taken over her. The days and weeks and months following her death had been hard for the entire household. Everyone had cared for the queen. It had seemed as if nothing would ever be right again. And then their father had remarried five months after her passing, to an absolutely gorgeous countess who was hardly half his age. Link and Zelda had taken an almost immediate dislike to the woman. After all, who was she? This imposter, playing at being their mother when she was barely older than either of them? This woman, who had stolen their father away from all of their grieving, leaving them behind.

Her name was Marguerite, and on the surface she was a bubbly, likable woman. But she wasn't their mother, and Zelda and he had taken an almost immediate dislike to her.

What's more, Marguerite was seven months pregnant with their father's child; and lately, Link had been growing more and more distant from his father, simply because it was a rare instance when the pregnant Marguerite wasn't at his side. The woman had a certain disdain for her husband's children, although she was a master at hiding it around their father. Whenever alone with one of them, she wore expressions ranging from polite boredom to plain and obvious loathing. Link had no idea what either Zelda or he had done to earn her disfavor, but he certainly didn't care. He was the rightful heir to the throne, after all. What could she do?

Marguerite stepped around the throne, coming to stand beside Link's father. She laid a hand gently on the king's shoulder, placing the other under her swollen belly. Her painted red lips were quirked into a smirk, and the expression she wore was almost... smug.

"No, I haven't," Link's father replied, a joyous light in his eyes. "Though, I believe a servant informed me that she's in a fitting now for her gown for the ball next week. She'll be a beauty to behold, I'm sure. Her future husband will be pleased." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I would have called her in here along with you, but I didn't want to upset her preparations."

"So that means there _is_ news, then?" Link asked, clasping his hands behind his back. His cape dragged on the marble floor as he took a step up the stairs. "Because I rather thought I was being called in here so that you could scold me for something." He flashed a grin.

His father raised his eyebrows, appearing amused. "Have you done something that warrants a scolding, son?"

Link shook his head, raising his eyebrows innocently. However much of their father's time Marguerite took up, there was no doubt as to whether the King still loved his children. He took great pride in them; even doted on them, in his own way. He just... didn't seem to have time for them anymore. "No, my Lord. I've been the epitome of good behavior," Link answered.

His father chuckled. "Is that so? Your tutors tell me that you're increasingly distracted during some of your lessons."

Link easily shrugged off the inquiry. "Only the ones about things like the maintenance of Hyrule's water canals and the capacity of the prisons, father. I swear that I'm a model student in all my other subjects."

His father laughed. "I can see clear as day that I've raised my son to be good at deflections. I haven't spoken to you in a few days, Link. What have you been getting up to?" His right hand came up and scratched at the beard on his right jawbone. It was a tick of his that was very familiar to Link. No, his father was not angry at him in any capacity. Link could practically taste the relief.

"Daniel," Marguerite spoke up finally, her slender, long-nailed hand squeezing his father's shoulder gently. "Quit taunting the boy." She looked up and smiled warmly at Link, her hand rubbing over her belly as she spoke.

His father turned his head back to smile at her, reaching up and squeezing the pale, milky-skinned hand that lay on his shoulder. "That's right," he said, turning back to Link, his smile growing wider. "We have news, son! Grand, grand news! Tell him, my love."

Marguerite's red lips quirked back into that little smirk, her eyes shining in triumph. "The Court Sorcerer conducted an examination just yesterday, of the baby." Her hand stroked up over her belly again. "He told us the most _wonderful_ news."

"Two sons!" his father interrupted with a burst of laughter, clapping both his hands together. "In a couple short months, I'll have _two_ sons! We've known for a few weeks that it was most likely a boy, but we didn't know for sure, so we kept it to ourselves until we did. And the Court Sorcerer checked again yesterday morning, and he says he's certain of it! A _boy_, Link!"

Link couldn't think. He couldn't see his father's elation. He couldn't see the self-satisfied smirk that Marguerite wore. He couldn't see anything past the sudden wash of fear he felt. Again, he wasn't stupid. He could put two and two together, and—

"Well, say something, my boy!" His father's loud voice broke him out of his trance. He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a fish before he quickly plastered a smile on his face. After all, anyone would be pleased at the knowledge of a new baby brother. And so they should. And so _he_ should. The king was clearly elated. The happy grin on his face could have cured any sickness, no matter how deadly. But it couldn't help Link with what he would be facing now, he was sure of it. His heart sank.

He was a dead man. He couldn't even seem to find words outside of a few mumbled 'congratulations' and 'that's wonderful, a brother,' which he got out past a weak smile. And the whole time, he couldn't help but notice the gleam of triumph in his stepmother's eyes, well-hidden from his father. She already believed she'd won.

It gave him a chill.

Because now that the woman was having a son—a son that had the _king's_ blood—the baby would be second in line for the throne of the kingdom of Hyrule.

And it was no guessing game who Marguerite would prefer succeed her husband. She may have even been planning this all along, all of it weighing on the question of what her baby's gender would be; whether it would be a girl to be married off, or a boy to take its father's place. And that meant that Link was now in her child's way. He was in _her_ way. He was the one obstacle standing between her, her child, and the Crown.

And royal assassinations certainly weren't unheard of.

After he was released from his father's audience, he immediately made his way to Zelda's chambers, his heart pounding erratically with fear of all the implications his stepmother having a boy entailed. His eyes darted towards every shadow and dark corner.

It would all be so different if Marguerite loved him, but she didn't. She never had. He was... If he didn't watch his back from now on, he was dead. He couldn't afford to misplay a single move in this game that his stepmother had made.

* * *

**Bleh, power struggles. I hope the story's heating up for some of you. I assure you, these guys are only going to get themselves into more shit.**

**I'm going to try my darndest to get the next chapter posted by next Tuesday. ****Any comments/suggestions/whatever are appreciated via review or PM. Come talk to me! I don't bite, I just fangirl over everything. Thank you for reading!**


	4. Dark Memories

**Happy holidays, and happy reading!**

******************Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Legend of Zelda. All other original characters belong to me.**

* * *

**The Good Fall Harder From Grace**

* * *

**Chapter Three - Dark Memories**

The prince was a dead man.

Sheik had accepted the job. All in all, it hadn't been a difficult decision. He had been making preparations all week. There was going to be a ball at the castle in two days, celebrating the birthday of Princess Zelda, as well as her rumored handfasting to King Jemir of Wellspring, a wealthy ally of Hyrule. That was the night that Sheik had decided he would do it. It was the only time that he could think of that he would be able to obtain private access to the prince.

He had made several underhanded deals with more than a few seedy characters in order to procure an invitation to the event, originally meant for one Lord Bartley of Faronna. Sheik would be attending the party in his stead, under the pretense that he was Lord Bartley's son, and his father had recently taken ill. Sheik had also learned from his week in Castle Town, looking for places with that familiar and safe inverted Triforce and listening to the gossip there, that the Prince was apparently known for his taste in men. Not for his _ravenous_ taste, though. Apparently he wasn't as oversexed as many people believed; it was simply that men were _all_ this boy preferred tasting, and that was soon to become a problem for the King when it came time for his son to marry the daughter of one of his allies. Sheik intended on approaching the Prince from that angle: seduction. Dear goddesses. As if he could even seduce a goat with an offered fig branch. The thought was laughable, but he knew he could turn on the charm when he needed to, especially when he was pretending to be someone else. He couldn't think of any other discrete way of getting the Prince to come with him on his own, so that was what it was going to have to be.

Something kept bothering Sheik, though; a nagging bit of guilt that had been eating away at him all week: his target was only seventeen. Still a boy. Sheik had still been in the prisons at that age, and that had been six years ago.

Not to say that he liked it, but he was used to killing pompous old men. He was used to going after businessmen who made each other angry over stupid deals and bargains gone awry. He was used to going after the cruel and wealthy and using his pay to help out the hungry and poor that were so abundant in and around Hyrule.

He _wasn't_ used to going after boys who hadn't even reached manhood yet... None of it was sitting right with him. But... fifty-thousand rupees... He'd really had no choice but to accept. All that money could go a long way. Hell, he'd kill his own father for that amount. He'd break back into the prisons, find his father there, and slice his throat. Fuck, he'd do it even without the money. Bloody bastard...

"Are you okay?" Andrew asked from where he sat on top of the bar, drying a glass with a dirty bar towel. It was mid-morning, so the tavern was closed to the public. That day was the first day that Sheik hadn't been busy preparing for the upcoming job, and when Andrew had asked him to stay in for the day in the family tavern, Sheik had agreed easily enough. It wasn't often he found time to rest, after all. Andrew and he had been able to form an easy relationship based on their light banter over the past week. It was comforting, almost.

The night that Sheik had arrived, Andrew's father, Bayard, had offered Sheik a room for the duration of his stay in Castle Town. Sheik had refused at first, insisting it would be too dangerous for the man and his son if he stayed there, but Bayard had rolled his eyes and shook his head.

_"That topsy-turvy Triforce carved into the door isn't there just to look pretty, you know," he said. "It means safety. Safety for people who are down on their luck. Safety for people who need to be hidden." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully._

_"I'm a murderer," Sheik said lowly. "You'd allow a murderer in your home? Near your son?"_

_Bayard laughed loudly. The sound of it could fill up an entire room. "Seems like he's hell bent on getting near you all on his own." The man winked at him. He _actually_ winked._

_Sheik's face went scarlet._

_"You're an assassin," Bayard continued. "Or a mercenary, or whatever title it is you choose to call yourself. And I don't know where you come from, or how you came to have the skills you do; but tell me something, Sheik." Bayard fixed him with a stern gaze. "_Who_ have you actually killed? What _type_ of people?"_

_Sheik shrugged. "Mostly nobles with petty debts and wrongs to settle."_

_"Right, right," Bayard said. "Men and women who sit on their rupees and cleave onto every last one of them with all their might and power, rather than help those around them who need that money far more than they do. I would consider those deaths a favor to society before I would consider them murder."_

_"I..." Sheik hesitated, carefully choosing his next words. "Thank you. For your hospitality."_

_"I do have one condition, though," Bayard said, his voice having gone flat and cold. "Use some of all that money you're getting to help somebody. Because if you keep it all to yourself, how different are you from the ones you're paid to kill?"_

_Sheik nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. He would often leave satchels of money anonymously in front of poorhouses and places like that. He'd been living in those conditions growing up, after all. His mother and he had food on the table maybe half the nights of the week, if they were lucky. He knew what it was like to go to bed hungry, and he knew it firsthand. Instead of telling Bayard all this, though, he said, "I will. It's a promise."_

_Bayard nodded, pleased by this. "And one more thing. On the night you finish the job." He crossed his big arms over his beg chest, and suddenly, he was ten times more threatening. "Don't come anywhere near this place."_

_Sheik blinked rapidly, wondering what in the name of the goddesses he'd done wrong._

_But Bayard didn't leave him wondering for long. "I don't blame you for accepting the job, I really don't. I understand the pull of that much money, Sheik, but I want to make it clear to you that I don't approve of it, not one bit. Had I known that that was what that man was going to offer you, I never would have let him into my home." He shook his head, looking off at the ground. "I'm allowing you to stay here because I believe your intentions are good, but my generosity can only be blind to so much. The prince may be rich, but he's a young boy, and young boys deserve the chance to prove what kind of men they're going to be. And they certainly don't deserve to be judged on the merits of their fathers. I don't know who wants him dead badly enough to hire you for the task of it, but I don't agree with it. This whole... situation... stinks worse than the sewers, and I sure as hell don't need soldiers sniffing around this place."_

_"Don't worry," Sheik mumbled. "I won't come back."_

"I'm fine," Sheik said to Andrew finally, glancing up at him from under his bangs.

Andrew sniffed, shooting Sheik a look that said 'yeah, right.'

"Will you quit acting as if you know me?" Sheik muttered, glaring at the wall behind the counter. "You don't know what every one of my little expressions mean, so stop it. We're not bloody married." He turned to scowl at him.

Andrew gave him an odd look. "Can't help being friendly, mate. It's in my nature."

Sheik snorted, turning away. "Your father won't be happy about you not getting all of your work done. It's likely he'll blame me for distracting you."

Andrew shrugged. "The tavern is just a ruse for what really goes on here, anyway. To keep the soldiers and the Crown from sniffing about."

Sheik raised an eyebrow. "Then it's even more important that your chores be kept up, isn't it? Pretenses, and all that." He smirked.

Andrew rolled his eyes, not offering a response. Instead, he gave Sheik an expectant look. "Come now, Last of the Sheikah," he said in a quiet voice, patting the counter beside where he sat. "Have a seat beside me."

Sheik frowned up at him, fighting to remain obstinate for as long as he could. A few more moments of that pleading, almost aloof stare, though, and he complied, jumping up onto the bar and slouching his shoulders, frowning petulantly. "I'm not the last one," he muttered.

"Are you full-blooded, then?" Andrew asked.

"I doubt it," Sheik answered. "No one is anymore. Not the Gerudo, not the Sheikah, and only about half of the Hylians. The nobles, who care about pedigree and that sort of thing." He reached out and plucked at Andrew's only slightly pointed ear. "Your ears aren't pointed enough to be a full-blooded Hylian, you see? There's something else in you. The Zora and Goron tribes may be pure, but that's just because they can't_—_"

"Because they can't make babies with anyone but their own kind," Andrew finished for him; punctuating the end of the sentence by setting down the glass he'd been drying and flicking Sheik's hand away, rubbing his molested ear with an irritated frown.

"Don't look so sad." Sheik chuckled, putting his hands out on the counter behind him for balance, stretching out and leaning back on them. "Look at me, I'm probably at least a third Hylian, and you don't see me moping about."

"You don't look it," Andrew muttered. "Your eyes are as bloody red as an apple."

"Some apples are green," Sheik reminded, and received a snort of derision in return.

They both sat in companionable silence for a while before Andrew spoke up again. "Did you know your mother and father?"

Sheik froze. The question had caught him off guard, to say the least. Those separate stories—the stories of the two divided parts of his childhood—were something he didn't usually share. Or care to think about, really. The answer was yes, he had known both of them, but never at the same time.

He had grown up with his mother: a strong woman who had raised him on her own, doing her best by him. Sheik wished he knew if she were still alive or not. He had not seen her in... what was it? Eight, nine years? Not since the day he had been arrested. Not since he was fourteen. He often dreamed of going back to the small town where they used to call home and finding her, but he could never bring himself to try. He didn't want to see the look of disappointment and shame on her face when she heard of what had become of him, he supposed.

And his father he knew from a different place.

"Hey." Andrew nudged him again. When Sheik came to, he found himself staring slack-jawed at Andrew's very closely hovering face. "You alright, mate?"

Sheik shook his head to clear it. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yes, I knew them."

"Well, were they full-blooded?" he pressed.

Sheik blinked. "Well... I know my mother wasn't. But my father always swore by his blood. Said it was pure of anything foul, but my guess is he was lying for the sake of pride. He always thought himself better than the Hylians. Better than anybody, really."

Andrew chuckled softly. "Foul? Foul meaning my kind, yeah?'"

Sheik turned to meet his eyes. "I said that my father thought that, not that I do," he said.

Andrew gazed evenly back at him. "You're very puzzling, you know."

"Am I?"

"Yes," Andrew answered, resting his hand on Sheik's leg. "You're what they would call an assassin—"

Sheik stiffened, flinching away a few inches. He watched the hand on his leg carefully, waiting for it to move, and perhaps secretly praying it wouldn't. Andrew watched him closely, but made no move to back off as the hand, sure enough, rose higher. His chocolate brown eyes tracked Sheik, his every movement, as if they knew just the way to rip him open and take away all of his secrets.

"—and yet you're not much different from any other person I've met, so far as I can tell. Perhaps a bit more mysterious; perhaps a bit more shut-off..." Andrew's other hand wrapped its way around Sheik's right hand, squeezing it gently. And then Andrew stopped moving and drew back a bit, looking down.

He brought Sheik's right hand closer to his face to inspect it, biting his lip and glancing back up at him. Sheik shifted uncomfortably.

"Why do you only have four fingers on this hand?" Andrew asked quietly, his eyes boring into Sheik's from beneath his lashes.

Gently, Sheik pulled his hand away and dropped it into his lap, next to where Andrew's hand still lay on his thigh. "It was considered your first warning, back where I came from. If you were caught stealing, the first time you lost a finger. The second time, they took you to the prisons. I… I stole some bread when I was younger. Food was scarce, and I didn't have much of a choice."

Andrew gaped at him in disbelief. "And where the hell would they do something like that? That's a barbaric thing to do! Goddesses, how old were you?"

Sheik shrugged. "Twelve, when it happened. Of course it wasn't the first time I'd stolen, it was just the first time they caught me."

Andrew gave him a gentle smile, his lips pursed tight. Sheik was grateful when the second question didn't come: _'Were you ever caught again?' _ He didn't want to have to explain that time as well. Something much worse than losing a finger had happened.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Andrew said softly.

A rough, barking laugh tore its way from Sheik's throat. "Worse things than that have happened to me. I don't really think about it anymore. It was over ten years ago." Sheik turned his head to study Andrew's reaction to all of this, but as they came to face each other, they had grown so close that Sheik's nose skimmed over the skin of Andrew's cheek as he turned. A week's worth of tension was bubbling to the surface. "What is this going to turn into?" Sheik whispered, trying to fight the way his body was melting into the contact. "Because I need to know."

"What's it matter?" Andrew laughed breathily, the air ghosting across Sheik's face, hot and close. "You'll be out of the city in a few days, the poor little prince's blood on your hands. It's not like we're forming lifelong connections here, is it?"

Sheik flicked his eyes up to meet with Andrew's, and they stared at each other, inches apart. Sheik swallowed, blinking. "It matters."

Andrew gave an annoyed sigh, pulling away a bit. "What's happened here, then?" he murmured, giving Sheik a funny look. "You've gone all soft and sentimental on me. Wasn't it _you_ the first night who came waltzing in here asking _me_ for a drink?"

Sheik shrugged. "A drink is one thing. And I did that to get you to listen to me. You were being a very rude host."

Andrew barked out a short, harsh laugh. "What are you worried about, then? Think I'm going to tie you down, steal your secrets, sell you off to the Crown for the ransom? Demand you stay here in Castle Town and become my bloody fucking wife? Mate, that's not what this is. I'm _eighteen_. I don't have my eyes set on any one somebody, that's for sure, and least of all an assassin."

Sheik sighed, his stomach somersaulting. Relief. Fear. Hesitation. "There," he murmured, taking a deep breath. "That's all I asked to know, isn't it?"

Andrew shrugged, jutting his lip out into a pout. "S'pose it is. But I don't see why you have to go around frustrating me just to get to it."

Despite himself, a small grin stole its way onto Sheik's lips, and he closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of closeness. After all, he was young, and he had longings of the flesh as much as the next man. It was just that sometimes he kept himself so closely guarded and tightly bound that he had... difficulties even getting this close to another person. He had to remember to push all that aside, and remind himself that he _should_ want this.

"Suppose I like seeing you flustered," he said after a moment, opening his eyes back up to look at Andrew, who was smiling a sly sort of smile; and before Sheik could put any more thought into what was happening, he found himself being pulled even closer to him.

"We'll just see who gets flustered, won't we, Mister Sheikah Assassin?" Andrew said in a low, husky voice.

Sheik certainly wasn't stupid. He could tell where this was going. And oh, his body wanted it, that was for certain. After all, he was twenty-three: young and strong and healthy. His body _should_ want this sort of thing. It was just that... his mind often had a hard time catching up in situations like these. He should be thinking of lips on lips and hands stroking everywhere, skin and shuddering pleasure; but instead he just had... dark memories: pain, and regret, and more than what was probably a healthy dosage of fear.

But normalcy was the goal, and he _did_ want this—at least, that's what he was dead set on telling himself—so he pushed down the dark, murky, fearful feelings and forced his mind to become as aroused as the rest of him was.

Sheik felt his heart skip a nervous beat as he leaned in, their faces touching. And then, with a shaky sigh, he was folding his lips over Andrew's, hot breath flooding into his mouth. They kissed, hands all over one another, and as kisses tend to do, it got progressively heated. Heated to the point where somehow their shirts had been thrown away, crumpled on the floor; and their trousers were open, and Andrew was squirming on the bar underneath him, both of them moaning into each other's mouths. It felt... not wrong, but not right either. No, wait, it _did _feel right. Andrew felt _good_. He just... Sheik would be lying if he said it didn't feel like the best he'd felt in a while, but it also felt like... like he... like Sheik was only getting halfway into it. Like he wanted something more, or something else, or something different. Or maybe even nothing at all. Or, like he wasn't allowing his mind to follow along down that same path with the actions of his body. He couldn't. He might not be able to stand it, if he did.

He kept his eyes shut tight during the entire encounter. After all, he hated not feeling in control, and... sex hadn't ever really meant much to him after the prisons.

* * *

"So you will have the horse waiting for me at the southern gate?" Sheik asked, watching the man carefully.

The horse dealer was a tall, burly man; strongly-built from the days of hard work he put into his job. He seemed like a genuinely good man.

He frowned, eyeing Sheik up and down. A worried expression hung about his face. "What'd you say you needed it there for?"

Sheik crossed his arms, glancing idly at a shouting match that had broken out between two men further down the street. "I didn't say," he answered offhandedly, not bothering to look back at the horse handler. He was quite content to watch the shouting between the two men down the street break out into a small scuffle. The horse handler's patience was waning, though; that was obvious. The next time Sheik looked up, though, someone had broken up the fight. Sheik sighed and went from watching that to checking his nails, acting as if he were bored. "It's not your job to know," he murmured. "It's your job to do what I'm paying you for. That's the very definition of a job, isn't it?"

The man crossed his arms over his thick chest. "Look here, little man. I don't _have_ to do anything. I run my own business, and therefore, I have the right to refuse selling to anyone I please, and I say you're acting rather too suspicious for my tastes."

Sheik finally glanced up, squinting past the sun barely peeking over the rooftop behind the man. The sunlight was warm, it being the end of spring and near into summer, but the glare it sent off was nearly blinding. He put his hand up to shield his eyes and looked at the man for a few seconds, thinking about what to do. He couldn't afford to go to another who sold horses. Word might get around that he was refused service, and then suspicions would arise. He didn't want that.

"You're not wealthy, are you?" he asked finally.

The horse handler snorted, but his stance relaxed a bit. "Been hard on the job all my life, kid. Think I'd still be working with horses if I could afford not to be?"

"Excellent," Sheik said, nodding. "Then I have no problem helping a humble man in need. I'll pay double what you're asking for no more questions." He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Is that fair?"

The man searched his eyes—Sheik wasn't sure what for—and seemed to decide something from what he found there. "Fucking damn it all, alright," he grunted. "I may live to regret this, but goddesses know a few hundred extra rupees will do nothing but good in my family. You've got yourself a deal, young man."

* * *

The sun sank behind the western skyline as Sheik walked, a few hours later. The cool evening air chilled his skin; but on the bright side, everything for the job was in order. He knew his target's appearance back and forth, he had a way in, a set escape, and he'd rely on pure skill for the rest of it. He'd even taken part of the day to bribe some of the castle guards for their silence; just a few here and there. In a few days' time, the Prince of Hyrule would be no more. The entire day had been productive, and, well... busy.

Really, he could have waited until tomorrow to purchase a horse for escape, but after Andrew and he had... Well, Sheik hadn't wanted to linger. It was just too awkward. They'd both pulled their clothes back on, smoothing down the wrinkles and wiping off the sweat. He'd felt Andrew's eyes burning into him the entire time.

_"Don't know why you've gone all shy and quiet now," Andrew muttered. "It was good enough for me. After all, when you're done and gone out of the city, I can go around and brag that I bedded an assassin, isn't that right?" He laughed good-naturedly._

_Sheik shrugged, not feeling much like joking. He didn't like the way he felt all undone and exposed._

_"Hey." Andrew drew closer and squeezed his shoulder, nothing but waves of warmth and acceptance rolling off of him. "Seriously, mate, everything was fine."_

_"I know," Sheik said softly. "It was."_

_Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You alright?"_

_Sheik nodded, but his throat felt tight. "Yes," _he lied.

He'd left not long after that.

He... He couldn't... It was just...

The truth was that he wasn't all right. He hadn't been. He still wasn't. He wasn't sure whether he'd ever be. He'd prefer to just not think about it. Were it up to him, he'd have the four years he spent in that place wiped clean from his memory. Stupid, stupid...

He tried to push it all out of his mind, reminding himself that he was twenty-three, and it was healthy for him to do _that_ every now and again. The way his mind was warring inside him was nothing but _stupid_.

All he needed to do was think about the Princess's birthday ball in a few days, killing the Prince, finishing the job, and getting the fuck out of Hyrule for a couple of years. That's all he wanted. Well, that and peace.

* * *

That day had been interesting, to be sure. Link, for some reason or another, couldn't seem to stop thinking about the stranger he'd ran into that day in the main square.

He was able to see a little corner of the sky from the window he was gazing out of. The close tower outside blocked out most of the wide expanse of the night, but he could see a little. The sunset he had just watched minutes ago had been beautiful.

He supposed the stranger wouldn't stay in his mind for long, though. There was much around to distract him, after all. Things at the castle were tense. Right after he'd left the audience with his father and Marguerite, Link had rushed to his sister's chambers. Zelda had been reading in her comfy, overstuffed armchair when he'd arrived, thin wire spectates fixed on her nose. She'd looked up at him with a frown.

_Zelda put down the book. "What's wrong now, then?"_

_ Link dropped heavily onto the small stuffed stool that had been pushed up against the side of her chair. "I'm dead," he managed to get out. _

_ Zelda dropped a hand over the arm of her chair to pat the top of his head, letting her delicate fingers trail a bit in his blonde hair. _

_ "Link, I'm sure you're over-exaggerating just a tiny bit, don't you think?" Zelda murmured back, still sounding distracted._

_ Link craned his neck around and scowled over the arm of the chair at his sister. Her eyes were still fixed on the book in her lap. She was only giving him half her attention, apparently. Wretched girl... This was important! This was life and death._

_ "Zelda!" Link hissed. "Do you mind?"_

_ With a great sigh, Zelda marked her place in her book, turned, placed it gently on the side table, and then ever-so-slowly turned back to face Link, propping her chin up on her hand as she gazed down at him. "What?" she said simply, giving the 't' an extra little click of her tongue. _

_ Link pulled his feet up under him on the stool, sagging against the side of the chair and resting his head on the arm. Zelda brushed her fingers through his hair again. It was soothing. Familiar. Comforting._

_ Finally, he said it. "Marguerite's pregnant."_

_ "That's not exactly news, Link," Zelda chided. "Everyone knows."_

_ "Yes, but she and Father know what the baby is now. And they've just told me."_

_ The fingers stopped moving on his head._

_ "They had a sorcerer check. It's going to be a boy," he said in a scratchy voice._

_ There was still no answer. And no movement from her fingers._

_ "I think she's going to have me killed," Link confessed, letting out a huge breath._

_ Still, Zelda did not answer._

_ Link glanced up at her and saw that her face had practically turned to stone. He nudged her. "Hey."_

Finally_—finally—she looked back down at him. She swallowed, her lips pursed tightly; seemingly collecting herself in that one breath of time. Oh yes, she would make a grand ruler someday. But him? No, if Marguerite had her way, he would be long dead before he ever got the chance. "It's okay," she said after a second more. "We'll find a way to stop this. There's no way to know when and _if _she will even—"_

_"Zelda." Link cut her off. "Let's not fool ourselves into a false sense of security." He sat up straighter. "It's not 'if.' It's '_when_.' We both know it's only a matter of time. We both know she's never loved either of us. What's to stop her?"_

_ Zelda nodded, her eyes not meeting Link's. "I know. You've got to be careful, little brother. So, so careful. I'll only be living here for a few more months at the most—"_

_ "I'll be on my own." Link sighed. "I'd be surprised if she hasn't already hired an assassin. I'm only in her and her child's way now, after all. I've become an obstacle. She has the entire kingdom at the edge of her fingertips. All she has to do is reach a little bit more, and—"_

_ But Zelda shook her head, her honeyed blonde hair falling down around her face, as it wasn't put up in any fashion. "No, she would never be so stupid. They would know it was her who ordered it. There would be too many questions, too many suspicions... She'll wait, and she'll try and make it look like an accident. But she won't do it any time soon. I think..." she narrowed her eyes in thought. "I think that if we wait, and we plan, we'll be able to best her at her game, and expose her to Father."_

_Link rolled his eyes, feeling glum. "Marguerite exposing herself to father is how we got into this mess to begin with."_

_Zelda shoved him so hard that he fell of his stool and went sprawling onto the floor. _

_"Link!" she shrieked. "For the love of all that's holy, that is absolutely disgusting! I do _not_ want to have to _think_ about _them_ doing _that_."_

_Link sat back, using his elbows to prop himself up. "What do you mean 'about them doing that?' Just say it. It's called having sex. It's a thing, Zelda."_

_She tossed a pillow at his head. "Shut up! Little brothers are horrid. I simply meant that I don't want to think of my _father_ and his wife in the action of... of..."_

_He laughed and dodged her thrown pillow, and slowly began to forget his troubles. Zelda was right. The danger was real, and it was there, but if Marguerite was smart—and they both knew that she was—then she would not act for a while; possibly even years, surely. Link didn't think she was too desperate just yet. It would be alright for a time._

_They squabbled for a bit more, tossing things at each other until they both collapsed on the floor, laughing and still swatting at each other. _

_"Do you want to go out?" Link asked, the idea having just sprung into his head. _

_Zelda turned her head to glance over at him. "Go out where?"_

_Link shrugged and sat up, trying to flatten down his hair again. "Dunno. Into the city for a bit. Just to have a look around. Have a last bit of fun before you get yourself promised to some king we don't even know."_

_A slow smile slid its way onto his sister's lips. "You're on," she said._

* * *

"Hey, Sheik, wait up," a somewhat familiar voice called from behind him on the darkening street. Sheik didn't have to look; he knew well enough who it was.

He scowled at the ground and kept walking. Not only did he have no desire to see Andrew at that moment—in fact, he'd been going to great lengths to _avoid_ the inn—but considering what he was in Castle Town to _do_ in a few days, he didn't want his name being shouted in the street, either. Really, considering that Andrew was the son of a man who dealt in shady business every day, Sheik would have thought that he would be smarter.

"Stop." Andrew's called, his voice more insistent now, more commanding.

Sheik sighed and stopped his brisk pace, waiting with his arms crossed.

"Take a walk with me," Andrew said lowly, grabbing Sheik's elbow with a tight grip and marching him forward.

"Bugger off," Sheik muttered, tugging on Andrew's hold to no avail. Good goddesses, he didn't look that strong... He was barely bigger than Sheik was, but his _grip_ was otherworldly.

"No, I don't think so," Andrew growled back. "We're going for a nice chat so that I can figure out what the hell is wrong with you."

"Andrew, honestly, I'm fine! Alright?" Sheik continued to struggle. They made a right turn on the street that lead to the city's main square.

"If you're fine, then how come you can't even look me in the eye?"

"What happened to 'it's not like I'm trying to marry you?'" Sheik hissed, still fighting. "Why is this so important to you? Would you let me _go_?" He wrenched his arm away from Andrew with such force that he lost his footing and went stumbling backwards. And of course, as was his luck in life, he found himself reeling into something, knocking him and whatever—or whoever—it was over, landing right on top of whoever it was.

"That bloody _hurt,_" a male voice groaned from beneath him. Sheik couldn't see who it was, because his head was currently lost in a tangle of fabric. He couldn't see _anything_.

"Ouch," Sheik muttered, pulling his head loose from whatever garment of this man's clothing that it had been lodged in and looked down at the person he was sprawled atop of.

He decided then that the Holy Goddesses, living in their halls of white marble stone somewhere up in the heavens must have had a personal vendetta to settle against him.

Because those blue eyes blinking up at him, and that tousled, mussed, golden blonde hair was all too sickeningly familiar. Because they belonged to the person he had been taking measures for the past week to _hunt_. To _kill._

Sheik's heart lodged itself up in his throat, and his stomach dropped out his backside.

He'd knocked himself into the fucking Prince of Hyrule.

Who was... er, laughing... And... And Sheik was sort of... tangled... with... with him.

"Shit!" Sheik squeaked. He'd like to say he growled it, or muttered it; but no, it came out as a faint squeak. He quickly cleared his throat as he looked straight up into the Prince's amused face. "Er... Sorry, I—" Great, just great. He sounded like a flustered girl.

The Prince's lips were pursed, and his eyes were alight with mirth. Sheik felt something—unease, perhaps—stir in his stomach. Yeah, definitely, uh... definitely unease.

"It's perfectly alright," the Prince said, his eyes still smoothing a path around Sheik's face. "Accidents do happen. I realize that. We're not going to throw you into the dungeons or anything."

The dungeons. Sheik's entire body tensed. He lost sight of the actual world for a moment, gone instead to the feeling of darkness and fear, and big hands pushing him down, and a pair of cold, red eyes watching from the doorway.

_You have to go through it like the rest of us did, Sheik. What, you think you're better than everyone else here? They'll tire of you eventually, just take it like a man._

"But, unfortunately," the Prince said, interrupting the ongoing memory in Sheik's head. "I do think it's about time that you stopped lying on top of me."

Sheik couldn't think about what the Prince was saying to him, because his mind was a muddled mess of too many things. Over and over, something in his mind kept foolishly telling himself to _do it now, just do it now_! And yet, at the same time, his instincts told him to get up and run. He _couldn't_ do the job now, and it was stupid that he was even thinking of it. But his target was _right there_! _He could be over and done with it!_

He blinked, suddenly realizing that _oh my fucking goddesses_, he was sprawled on top of the _bloody Prince of Hyrule_, just staring at him like some sort of deranged loon_._

"Look," the Prince said, smiling gently as he pushed his way up onto his elbows, Sheik sliding off of him a bit. And of all the things for Sheik's mind to be cataloguing at that moment, it had chosen to focus on the attractive way the Prince's eyes crinkled up in the corners when he smiled. "I like you very much too, whoever you are, but I'd like to stop reacquainting myself with the ground now, if that's alright with you."

Without saying a word, Sheik stood up and off the boy in a matter of seconds, so quickly it was like someone else was controlling his body, as if he were a puppet. He backed away a few steps, shoving his hands into his pockets, staring at his feet. He felt Andrew's shoulder brush his own as he walked up beside him.

Under his breath, Andrew muttered, "What the fuck did you do?"

Sheik looked up and threw a dirty glare in Andrew's direction, just as one of the many nearby guards came forward to help the Prince to his feet.

"I bet anything it was his fault, in the end," a low, feminine voice said from beside him. Sheik started, glancing to his other side, where a young woman wrapped in a cloak made of expensive-looking material stood. She was blonde, and had blue eyes, and was watching Sheik with a careful expression, and _oh fucking goddesses have mercy._

Not only had he crashed into the Prince of Hyrule, but it seemed he did it while said Prince was out for a stroll with his sister, the _Princess_ of Hyrule.

All he could manage to do was swallow as Andrew gripped his arm and _pulled_. He had no idea why his words were failing him now. He normally always had a sharp retort or easy comeback to say to anything and everything. But come hell or high water, he swore that he would go to his grave blaming it on seeing the face he was meant to kill days before he was meant to kill it. He honestly couldn't explain it.

_Right_, he thinks. _We should go. Now._

As they edged away, the Princess's eyes flashed up to stare at them, a small smile quirking her lips. "Not yet," she said quietly, setting her eyes back on her brother, who was a few feet away, brushing himself off.

"I heard that, you know," the Prince called. "And it was only half my fault." He walked over, crossing his arms under his crimson red cloak. "It takes two people oblivious to the world to knock each other over." He grinned handsomely, raising his eyebrows in Sheik's direction, clearly looking for a reaction.

Sheik looked down at his feet again. He could not answer.

"We're terribly sorry, your Highnesses," Andrew said for him, moving his arm around Sheik's shoulders. "He really wasn't looking. Stupid of him. He's sorry."

Sheik glanced up. He just... the pure _shame_ he felt at standing in the presence of this young life he was supposed to take. But the Prince... he was gazing straight at Sheik, with obvious mischief in his eyes. He was handsome, to say the least; with sunny, golden-blonde hair and dark, dark blue eyes.

"It's alright," the Prince said, dragging his eyes away from Sheik to look over at Andrew. "We're not going to have you thrown in the stocks, or into the prisons or anything. You can relax."

Sheik flinched at the mention of the word, not being able to help himself. Somehow having caught the change in Sheik's stance, the Prince turned his eyes back onto Sheik to regard him with open curiosity. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Sheik nodded roughly, his eyes narrowing as he continued struggling to keep in check whatever the hell was wrong with him. Andrew must have been noticed too, because he bumped his hips gently into Sheik's to get his attention, casting him a worried glance.

Sheik knew he was being ridiculous was ridiculous. He pushed the sickly feeling down—practically wrestling it into submission—until he could manage the welling up of panic it caused in his chest. He cleared his throat, and finally, after far too much time, found his voice.

"I'm fine, my Lord. Thank you," he mumbled. And that's all he said, his eyes moving up and locking with the Prince's. There was still a hint of mischief there in those blue eyes, but mostly bewilderment, no doubt in response to Sheik's strange actions.

"Link, I think we should be going," the Princess murmured from beside Sheik after a long silence. He couldn't for the life of him remember her name at that moment. "It's getting dark. Father wouldn't like us out in the dark." She stared meaningfully back at her brother.

The Prince looked at her in a way that was clearly meant to only be understood by her. She gazed back evenly.

"We should be, as well," Andrew said, pulling at Sheik's shoulders. It must have been an odd sight, the two of them. Sheik was certainly taller than the young man currently trying to haul him away from the scene. The way he was being... _manhandled_ away from the Prince and Princess—it... it struck a nerve. It was much the same as when the Prince had mentioned the prisons. He didn't like being _forced_. The past few years, _he _had usually been the one doing the forcing. It was sort of what his line of work entailed.

"Goodbye!" the Prince called after them, and Sheik barely had time to glance back and see the boy's sister rolling her eyes at him before he wrenched his shoulders away from Andrew and turned away without another word to any of them. And like earlier that day again, Sheik sought out solitude. He figured he could find some back at the inn, as long as he locked the door and ignored Andrew when he would no doubt come knocking to figure out what the bloody hell was the matter with him.

Sheik didn't even know what was the matter with him. It scared him sometimes, it really did.

"Sheik, please wait up!" Andrew called. Sheik could hear his rapid footsteps on the cobbled street, rushing to catch up with him. Sheik didn't slow, but he didn't try to get away, either. When Andrew caught up to him, breathing heavily from the run, he didn't touch Sheik. It seemed he had learned, or perhaps caught on to the deadly foul mood Sheik was in. They walked together in silence for a while, Sheik brooding the entire time. When they finally reached the inn, Andrew, as expected, followed him up the stairs, so Sheik made a detour and didn't go to his room like he wanted. He didn't really fancy Andrew being in there with him, not knowing when to take a hint and _leave_.

Instead, Andrew followed him out through the door at the end of the upstairs hall and onto the small deck looking out over the narrow, darkening street.

Sheik hurled himself against the railing and slumped against it, glaring at the shadowy street below him and the few people passing by, still out and about at the late hour. His tail coat picked up a bit in the breeze, fluttering around him. He could feel more than see Andrew lean his back against the rail next to him, his body angled towards Sheik, hands gripping the rail to support him.

Sheik just did his best to ignore him.

"About the sex," Andrew began, and Sheik, exasperated, let out a loud groan, slumping even further against the railing.

"Oh, shut up and let me talk," Andrew snapped, a sharp tone to his voice.

Sheik turned the full force of his glare onto him, almost sneering. "Andrew, for the love of the goddesses, please learn when it's the right time to just _shut up and back off._"

"I just wanted to let you know..." he continued.

Sheik's narrowed his eyes even further.

"That it never has to happen again. But I don't regret a thing."

Sheik moaned aloud, letting half of his body fall over the other side of the railing. "Get me out of the city," he groaned.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, everyone! I'm really, really enjoying writing this story.**

**Any comments/suggestions/whatever are appreciated via review or PM. Any speculations?**


	5. The Job

**I'm having a hard time juggling classes, homework, **_**and**_** writing, so updates from now on might be either a little further apart, or a little shorter. But I'll have you know that I will never abandon this story. I'll keep posting until its over, no matter how long it takes me.**

**Also, just so everyone knows, the general layout of Castle Town that I'm using is the one from Twilight Princess. Mine, of course, is on a much larger scale.**

**It's assassinate Prince Link time!**

**************Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Legend of Zelda. All other original characters belong to me.**

* * *

**The Good Fall Harder From Grace**

* * *

**Chapter Four - The Job**

There was a warm breeze in the air that night. It made for pleasant party weather. Cloudless sky, stars big and bright, and warm enough that most of the scantily-clad costume-ball goers had no need for an extra layer of clothing.

Sheik was waiting in a long line in the middle of Castle Town's main square, just outside the castle gate. Everyone around him was lively and cheerful, talking amongst themselves over the roar of the large fountain in the middle of the square. Soldiers were standing at the entrance of the front gate, leading to the courtyard, where the party was currently taking place. They were checking the invitations of each and every person, Zora, and occasional Goron trying to get through. More than a few dressed-up hopefuls were turned away.

When it finally became Sheik's turn to present his invitation, the soldier took one cursory look at it before _barely_ patting him down and then nodding at him to go through. Sheik was a little surprised that it had been so easy. His hidden weapon hadn't even been found.

He passed under the first massive stone archway, and made his way up the imposing, column-lined slope to the gigantic doors leading onto the bridge that separated the castle from the rest of the city, yet another soldier nodding to him politely as he passed through. Around him, other partygoers who had been let through whispered excitedly to one another as they made their way to the final set of doors that would let them into the courtyard.

The high-walled castle courtyard was a loud, musical mess. People in gaudy costumes crowded every area. Lanterns hung on strings everywhere you looked, making it almost bright enough to be dusk again. Torches were lit, tables had been set aside with refreshments and alcohol, and a large dance floor had been established in the middle of the courtyard; a high, metal spire that depicted the triforce towering above it all in the center.

Incense was burning, and the smell of that and the food cooking and some sort of tobacco or plant being smoked nearby made the air thick, heady, and uncomfortable to breath. A stage had been erected against the west wall of the courtyard, and it was the best lit area of the party. Two figures sat in large, high-backed chairs upon it, surveying the party and goings on below them. Sheik assumed it was the king and queen, as they were being attended to by at least ten servants between them. Everything was bright and beautiful there, but Sheik knew very well that he wasn't there to have a good time or enjoy himself. He had work to do. Right then, time to find the prince.

Sheik circled the courtyard once, just trying to get an idea of the space he was in. He found himself extremely glad for the cover that the costume ball provided. With nearly everyone else around him wearing a mask, he didn't feel so out of place with the dark cowl wrapped around the lower part of his face. He'd added a simple wooden black mask to his ensemble, but had kept his tailcoat the same. He looked as good as any man there. Besides, he hadn't seen much point in investing in some garish costume he'd never wear again.

Walking around, Sheik saw Hylians, Zora, and Gorons alike. The river and mountain-dwellers were sparse among the vast amounts of Hylians—probably only nobles and dignitaries of either race having been invited—and as far as Sheik could see, they mostly looked uncomfortable in their bizarre and opulent costumes. Relations between the Hylians and Zora and Goron tribes had been tenuous at best in recent history, so Sheik supposed it was good to be seeing them attend the party, even if they did look twice as ridiculous as any Hylian there.

As Sheik finished his circumvention of the courtyard, he stopped just outside a throng of people who were gathered around a food table. He put his hands on his hips, looking around as he tried to form a mental count of the crowd in the courtyard. Two sentinels were posted along the curved courtyard wall about every fifteen feet. The only ways out that Sheik could see were the way he had come in: over the bridge and through the gate, and through the castle; which meant that when he made his escape, he'd need to stay anonymous, or he'd never get away. He cocked his head, eyes moving to the large doors on top of the stone steps of the castle. He could always find a way back through—

"You look a bit familiar," a low voice said right into his ear. He actually felt the hot puff of breath against his skin. Sheik hadn't been paying a great amount of attention to what had been going on directly around him, and as a result, the suddenness and closeness of the voice startled him, and he jerked back.

The amount of pure fucking irony there was in turning to find the Prince gazing merrily up at him was almost sickening. Of course it had been _his_ quarry who had found _him_. Fucking princeling...

Although, despite Sheik's irritation, he had to admit that he looked very... nice. His costume, like Sheik's, wasn't anything specific. It didn't have a theme the way many of the partygoers' did, like an animal or something else utterly stupid. Just a simple mask, blue and gold—much more opulent than Sheik's plain black one—and an expensive-looking, midnight-blue cloak.

This was it, then. This was a job, and therefore Sheik wasn't supposed to be himself, he was supposed to be whoever he _needed_ to be to get the job done. Which in this case was a slightly drunk and charming partygoer. He was not going to allow this time to become a repeat of what had happened a few weeks ago with Ander. No sympathy, no feeling bad when the Prince inevitably started sniveling and begging for mercy at the moment of his death. Just the job.

"Only a bit familiar, my Lord?" he asked, using a slow, smooth voice. He raised his eyebrows as he smiled, earning an amused twitch of the lips from the Prince.

The Prince smirked. "You're that man who thought it was all well and good to knock the Crown Prince of Hyrule onto his arse and then just run off."

Sheik shrugged, grinning devilishly. "Apologies, your Highness. It wasn't my intention, I assure you." He let his grin warm into a soft smile.

The Prince raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You mean you _weren't_ baiting me?" He laughed harshly. "Are you kidding me? Nobody is that clueless, surely. You _had_ to have known it was me."

Sheik blinked stupidly, barely remembering to have the decency to look confused as he bristled with irritation at the Prince's words. "No, my Lord, of course I didn't know. I was just being clumsy. Had I known you were in the area, I probably would not have been making such a spectacle of myself."

The Prince cocked his head, seemingly considering Sheik's words before speaking. "You left before I had the real chance to ask you anything," he accused.

Sheik snorted. He noticed a few of the people at the nearest food table were casting them curious glances and trading whispers. Perhaps it was time they found somewhere more private to talk. He turned his eyes back to the Prince. "I'd knocked you over, my Lord," he answered smoothly, barely remembering what he was even answering for. "I thought it best to vacate the area."

"It's not like pushing me over is a criminal offense," the Prince said with a great sigh, pretty blue eyes cast downward behind his mask. "You... didn't even mean to."

Sheik stared at him for a moment before reaching out and needlessly straightening the hem of his midnight-blue cloak, letting his fingers linger, tangled in the luxurious fabric a little longer than necessary. Their eyes met again, the Prince's widening dramatically at Sheik's boldness. Sheik offered nothing but another small smirk in repentance. "Well, I'm here now, my Lord," he said lowly, quirking an eyebrow. He let go of the cloak, patting it down gently before withdrawing his hands and crossing his arms instead. "Ask away."

The Prince pursed his lips, searching Sheik's face for a few moments before speaking. "And you _really_ didn't do it just to play me?" he asked, the hesitance clear in his voice. He even _looked_ sheepish, his expression having formed into something of a wince as he'd spoken.

Sheik laughed. "Again, my Lord, _no_."

The slow, reluctant smile that the Prince had been trying to keep at bay finally broke out in full force, and it was nearly blinding in its charm and sincerity. Sheik's stomach was starting to turn. He had to _kill_ the boy who wore that smile with such oblivious charm. He'd never smile again, and he certainly wouldn't be smiling once Sheik had him alone.

"Come on, then," the Prince said warmly, taking Sheik's hand and leading him away. "I think we should talk over a..." He stopped, bringing them to a halt, peering down at the two of their hands. Gently, his thumb came up to rub at the spot where Sheik's smallest finger was missing, and he smiled once more and shrugged before starting off again.

Sheik bit his lip, glad that that discovery had been handled so well. He'd been prepared with several explanations as to why a noble would have only nine fingers, but it seemed he wouldn't be needing them. So he followed silently behind the Prince as they waded through the crowds, squeezing his hand as they went, and received a smile over the shoulder in return. There were stares and whispers at the two of them as they moved. Sheik found that once again he was grateful for the mask hiding away his face. It soothed him, reminding him that no one there could have possibly recognized him, and that so far he was safe.

The Prince led him towards an empty table set against the north east wall of the courtyard. The servant standing behind it handed a goblet of wine to each of them, which Sheik accepted gratefully. Wine in hand, the Prince took hold of Sheik's wrist again, dragging him a few feet off to the side, where they had their own little private space against the wall.

"So who are you, then?" the Prince asked past a drink of wine.

Sheik chuckled, crossing his arms as best as he could with a cup in his hand. "Would you like my name, my Lord, or my title?"

A tiny grin tugged at the corners of the Prince's mouth. He drank his wine. "Name. I care less about your title than you do about mine."

"True enough, my Lord," Sheik answered smoothly. "It's Carver."

Sheik had done his share of research for the role he would be playing that night. Lord Bartly of Faronna, the original recipient of the invitation he had procured, had three sons, the eldest of whom was named Carver. Allegedly, this Carver was supposed to be somewhere in his twenties, and so Sheik had thought him perfect.

"Carver," the Prince repeated, a lost look in his eyes. "Carver. As in the eldest son of Lord Bartley? Of the Faronna province?"

Sheik was alarmed, but he hid it behind his goblet, taking another drink to hide his frown. "Yes, that's my father." He raised his eyebrows, swallowing, and leaned back against the wall behind them. "You certainly know your nobles well, my Lord," he said, tipping his glass towards him in a mock toast.

The Prince shrugged, that faraway look still in his eyes. "I have to. When one of them comes into court and the son of the king doesn't know their name, they take it as quite the insult. It happened once a few years ago. You would not believe the trouble I got into for it."

"I don't expect it was all that bad," Sheik replied curtly. The Prince's eyes fell to the ground as he fiddled with the rim of his cup. "But surely you can't remember _all_ of their names?" It was a good thing he had chosen to pose as the son of an _existing_ noble, and not just made up a title. It seemed he had underestimated the young prince.

The Prince looked up at him, his eyes suddenly fierce, and his jaw tight. "I do," he snapped, leaning heavily against the courtyard wall next to Sheik, crossing his arms. "I'm the future king. I have these kinds of responsibilities, and they're important, as silly as they may sound to you."

Sheik rolled his eyes, and then a moment too late wished he hadn't. Such a thing definitely wasn't in character, and just to drive that point home even more, the Prince was now glaring up at him like they were mortal enemies. Which, Sheik supposed, they technically were.

"My Lord?" he asked, frowning. A server came by with a tray, and they both set their emptied goblets onto it. The Prince set his down a little more forcefully, which caused a sort of wounded expression to form on the serving boy's face as he made a quick retreat.

"Is there something here that is amusing to you?" the Prince demanded. His eyes, partially hidden behind his mask shone in the dark with irritation.

Well, fuck. This was why Sheik never played a character when he took on a quarry. He could never make it convincing enough. His own personality always slipped through the cracks and he'd start acting like a donkey's arse. "Yes, my Lord." he murmured, staring at his feet, his mind racing for something to say that would placate the Prince's temper. "Amusing. The way nobles cling on to their lowly titles is really quite laughable," he supplied, looking back over at the Prince to gauge his reaction. "I mean, what does it all really matter in the end?"

The Prince studied him for a good long while, his scrutiny making Sheik's skin crawl and itch. It took a few moments, but his expression did finally soften. "You talk about them as if you weren't one," he said softly.

_I'm not, _he thought dryly."I don't care much for it, I must admit," Sheik answered awkwardly.

The Prince peeled himself away from the wall, moving to stand in front of him with crossed arms, shielding the rest of the party from Sheik's eyes. "You weren't wearing any sort of clothing that a noble would yesterday," he accused, brow drawn down. And you were walking around with a commoner. That other boy."

This was turning into an interrogation. "My servant," Sheik answered quickly. "And like I said," he grit through his teeth. "The lifestyle doesn't really suit me; all the fineries of dress and whatnot."

"Really?" the Prince asked, using a tone that was clearly meant to sound skeptical. He sighed, putting his hands up and shaking his head. "Okay, for one, nobles don't say 'whatnot;' and for two, I'm not stupid. I can tell that you're not a-"

Oh no.

Sheik flew off the wall, hands fisting into the Prince's velvety blue cloak, and turned them around, forcing him up against the cool stone.

And then he froze.

Frantic, he racked his brain for something that he could do that would explain his odd behavior. First things first, he'd had to do _something_ to distract the Prince from what he'd been so close to saying, and he hadn't been thinking fast enough to come up with any sort of action that made _sense_. And this was where that had taken him: manhandling the Prince of Hyrule into a submissive position against a wall with at least fifty guards within shouting distance of them. Well, at least he'd forgotten what he'd been about to say. That had been what Sheik was after, hadn't it?

"What are you doing?" the Prince gasped, pushing his hands back against Sheik's chest. Time sped up then, and Sheik realized that he'd been staring dumbly at the Prince, expression blank.

Sheik knew what he had to do now. And, seeing as how he had come this far...

He closed his eyes and covered the Prince's mouth with his, a shuddering breath escaping from him. The Prince gasped against his lips, the hands he had on Sheik's chest pushing feebly back at him. Sheik thought that perhaps the boy had opened his mouth in _shock_, because surely princes didn't go around opening their mouths for just anyone forcing them into a kiss. Unless this one did; in which case, Sheik's job had just gotten a lot easier. He'd intended to start pushing the conversation in that direction anyways, in order to get the Prince alone somewhere private inside the castle. And as kisses go—especially surprise ones—this one wasn't bad. It was actually really quite good: warm, and sudden, but not unwelcome, and... _ouch. _

Sheik tore his mouth away with a heavy breath, fingers going up to prod at the spot where he'd been bitten. It stung, but as he brought his hand away from his mouth to inspect the blood on his fingers, he could see it wasn't really that bad. He let his other hand drop to his side and stepped back a few paces, tasting at the blood still oozing from his lip.

"My Lord," a loud voice called from behind them, and it was only then that Sheik noticed how quiet things had gotten. He glanced up at the Prince, who was slumped against the wall, breathing hard and staring right back at him with an expression of shock, brow knitted together above his blue mask. "Shall I remove him from the party?"

Sheik turned around to find that a good half of the attendees were staring at them, a sea of unblinking eyes. There were also four guards rooted to the ground right behind them, strong and tall and unmovable, all of them with hands on their swords.

"No," the Prince said, and it was so unexpected that Sheik had to glance back at him to make sure it wasn't all just some huge practical joke. He was losing his touch as an assassin, it seemed; because thus far, the entire night had been a disaster. The Prince broke off from the wall, straightening his mask, which had gone askew during Sheik's assault. "No," he said again, and then louder, as he raised his hands: "Everyone, please continue with your festivities. I apologize a thousand times for the interruption." He looked at the four guards. "Please, go."

At the Prince's words, the partygoers turned their attention to other things and slowly began mingling again, and the guards no doubt disappeared to somewhere where they could spy on them in secrecy. Sheik turned back just as the Prince stepped forward. He wrapped his hand tightly around Sheik's elbow.

As Sheik looked up at him, hoping his face resembled something like a kicked puppy, he was surprised to see the Prince smile back. It wasn't a warm smile by any means; it was hesitant and guarded, but at least he hadn't had Sheik thrown out. "I had no idea you fancied me that much," he said, an obvious attempt at humor to break the tension.

Sheik sighed. "Couldn't let you finish that thought, my Lord."

The Prince snorted. "Couldn't you?" Sheik blinked and looked away, but did not answer.

"I know your name isn't Carver," the Prince said quietly.

Sheik's hands balled into fists as his fight or flight reaction started to kick in. He itched to climb the walls—no matter how high—and run as far as he could in the opposite direction; but the Prince's hand around his elbow grounded him, reminding him that he couldn't afford to make any more of a scene then he already had.

"I _am_ Carver," he growled, yanking his arm away, angry and frustrated, and most of all tired of trying to prove himself. The Prince watched him with an unwavering stare, making no move as Sheik began stepping away. "And I'll have you know it is _extremely_ insulting for someone of my title to be accused of—"

The Prince cocked his head. "I thought you didn't care about titles?"

Sheik bit his lip. "I _care_ about being accused of fraud—"

"I _knew_ Carver," the Prince interrupted. His arms disappeared inside his cloak as he hugged them around his middle. He smiled a grim smile, not quite meeting Sheik's eyes. "And for one, Carver wasn't a Sheikah." His eyes narrowed then, his demeanor having gone cool and intelligent, and Sheik somehow just _knew_ that he shouldn't say anything in response. "He visited the household here a few times. His father was good friends with my uncle, back when my uncle was still alive. He and his brothers often came along on their father's visits."

Sheik stopped breathing. If this was going where he expected it was, he would soon be fighting for his life.

Link's face scrunched up, brow wrinkling like a crumpled bit of paper. He looked like he was fighting off some sort of grief; and when he spoke, his voice was hollow. "Carver was my friend, too, when we were boys. He was older than me. I'll admit I was a little jealous of his age and good looks back then, but we always did get along. He quite fancied my sister, actually." The Prince looked away. "There was an outbreak of the aching fever in the Faronna province two years ago." He swallowed. "Carver died."

The words echoed in Sheik's head. Carver had died. Sheik was posing as someone whom the Prince knew to be dead. His throat went dry, and his heart started beating double time, but it wasn't because he had been discovered as some sort of imposter. It wasn't even because he was very, very close to being caught. Hell, the Prince had already caught him! It was because the man he'd chosen to impersonate, Carver, had been _special_ to the Prince, and recalling him had brought him pain. Why the _fuck_ should he care about that, though? Sheik had no earthly idea why it even seemed to matter to him, as he had no emotional claims to either the Prince or his dead friend. But all the same, he felt like such an utter _prick, _which was a stupid thing to feel like, considering that he was probably about to either be killed or sent away, back to the prisons. Fuck him, fuck the Prince, and fuck his life, because there was no way he was going to be sent back there again. He was quite certain that he'd rather die.

"Who are you?" the Prince asked simply, startling Sheik out of his thoughts. "Are you here to kill me?"

Sheik blinked stupidly. What kind of question was that? People weren't supposed to just ask that question outright. "No," he grunted.

The Prince snorted, turning his gaze and surveying the party around them in silence. After a while, he said: "Am I to believe that, coming from the mouth of a liar?"

Fucking goddesses, Sheik needed to think fast. "I wanted to meet you," he said quickly, glancing up in the hope of receiving a sympathetic or understanding look. Hell, he'd settle for a look of exasperation. Anything but the lowered brow and straight set of mouth he was getting now.

"Is that so?" the Prince asked carefully, watching Sheik very closely with narrowed eyes, like he was waiting for him to rip off his mask and confess himself as a liar and a criminal. The look of careful scrutiny frankly did look a bit out of place on his soft, youthful face.

It wasn't as if the Prince had immediately called for the guards, though, so Sheik decided that perhaps it would be okay to press on, hoping his so-far-horrid luck would improve. He nodded vigorously, taking a few frantic steps closer to the Prince, grabbing his wrist with both of his hands. The eyes behind the blue and gold mask narrowed further. "I knew I'd never get the chance to meet you on my own. This was the only way, and I—"

"You met me a few days ago," the Prince interrupted, his eyes falling to look at Sheik's hands, wound tight around his wrist. "Why would you need to again?"

_May the sweet power of seduction save me,_ Sheik thought. "To do this," he whispered, tugging the Prince in closer and pressing his lips into all that golden hair. The Prince inhaled sharply, but he did not pull away, which Sheik thanked the goddesses for in his head at least a dozen times. "And this," he whispered again, letting one of his hands slide inside the Prince's cloak to rest on his hip. He blinked slowly, gazing down at the Prince, who was gazing back up at him with just as much confusion and desire as Sheik himself was admittedly feeling. The Prince's body felt... right, pressed tightly up against his. Usually when Sheik found himself in sexual situations, his mind would shut itself down. He just couldn't help it. He could never force himself to remember that he didn't have to defend himself in situations like that anymore. But it hadn't happened this time—he actually felt surprisingly calm. Sheik didn't even care about the stares and the whispers all around them at that point. It just felt _good_, and the fact that it felt good felt _great_.

"So you're not here to kill me?" the Prince murmured, his eyes searching Sheik's.

Sheik laughed softly, warmly, feeling safe in knowing that he might possibly have just won. "No, my Lord." He let himself bury his nose in the Prince's hair, and oh, the scent of him was warm and welcoming and delicious. He was almost angry he had to do away with the boy.

"My name is Link," the Prince murmured. "You've kissed me. I think that means we can be on first name terms now."

"Of course, Link," Sheik purred, feeling the victory of having his quarry at that point practically offer himself up for the killing. Still, though. It would be a pity when he had to die.

Now, just to get him alone somewhere.

"What's your real name, then?" the Prince—Sheik refused to let himself think of the boy he was about to kill by name—asked quietly, and Sheik took the moment to pull them both back into the shadowy corner of the courtyard.

Sheik chuckled. "Not Carver."

The Prince smacked his chest. "I know that, you prat!" His face was all petulant indignation and bright, childish delight. That paired with his soft blonde hair and bright blue eyes made him look almost angelic. "Tell me what it is!" he demanded.

Sheik pursed his lips, holding in a laugh. He gave the first name that came to mind. "Sorren."

"Well, Sorren," the Prince said, gently pulling out of Sheik's embrace. "I'm very... well, flattered by your affections."

Sheik had to stop himself from snorting in amusement. Instead he let his lips twitch up into an almost-smile and grabbed the Prince's arm, pulling him back towards him. "_Link_," he said heavily, communicating all he could through his eyes: thoughts of desire and wanting. "I can be so much more affectionate."

The Prince raised one eyebrow, clearly amused. "I'm sure you can, Sorren, but I—"

Sheik licked his lips. He was close. So, so close. "May we?"

The Prince's eyes widened considerably. "Good goddesses! You hold nothing back, do you?" He breathed harshly out through his nose, crossing his arms underneath his cloak. "Well, except that you pretended to be my dead friend."

Sheik grabbed his hand again, afraid that he was slipping away. "A desperate measure of a loyal admirer, he assured. "That's all."

The Prince looked down at his feet, sighing. "I'm really not sure I deserve all of this admiration."

Sheik was about to respond when something caught his eye. About ten feet off, up the wall, something had shifted. It had lasted only for a second; but it had been dark in that spot atop the wall, and then suddenly light, as if something or someone that had been casting a shadow had moved. But who would be watching them? Was it a castle guard? No, that couldn't have been it. All the guards stationed around the courtyard wore heavy plate armor and chain mail that wouldn't make for good maneuverability, and certainly wouldn't allow for the climbing of the walls, which reached upwards of sixty feet. What had it been? Or who? And why had they been there?

Sheik had been biting his lip and staring at the spot where the shadow had moved with narrowed eyes when he realized that the Prince was shaking him.

"Sorren? Sorren, are you alright?"

Sheik blinked again, swallowing. "May we find somewhere more private?"

The Prince bit his lip. "I—Sorren, I can't. My sister. I don't want to miss her betrothal." His eyes were pleading, but Sheik wasn't quite sure why. The boy didn't yet have anything to be begging for.

Sheik shook his head. This had to happen now. "They will not announce it until the end of the night. The party is barely an hour over."

"But I—"

Sheik silenced him with another kiss, folding their lips together in a warm, wet caress. The Prince gave off the tiniest of moans, his arms winding their way around Sheik's neck. Sheik put his hands on the Prince's hips, rocking him into the nearest wall and receiving a groan in return as he crowded him in.

"It won't take long," Sheik whispered into his mouth. His hand trailed down the Prince's hips, palming his groin and catching gasp after gasp in his mouth as the boy began to lose himself.

It was then that Sheik knew he'd won.

Their lips broke apart for a brief moment, and all it took was the gasped "Yes," from the Prince's trembling mouth for it to be done. The shadow on the wall had all but left Sheik's mind.

They left the wall, fingers entwined, walking around the courtyard until they came to the wide set of stairs leading to the entrance of the castle. The Prince kept shooting him wistful, sidelong grins, and then tucking his chin back down into his chest, as if he were embarrassed. A lot of people were openly staring at them, but Sheik had a good guess as to what they probably thought the Prince and he were off to go do. The two of them would not be interrupted, he was sure of it.

A pair of guards stepped in front of them as they reached the top stair to open the ornate double doors into an enormous, high-ceilinged marble hall. As they passed through the doorway, Sheik studied the faces of the soldiers, and was quite chagrined to find they both appeared rather amused. Before he could get too irritated, however, the Prince grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, the thick, heavy doors shutting behind them.

"It's remarkable in here," Sheik murmured, leaving the Prince and walking to the end of the short entrance hall, looking around wide-eyed as he came to the mouth of the huge room at all the balconies, enormous white columns, and chandeliers. It seemed impossible, that sort of splendor.

"It's wasteful," the Prince replied, walking up behind him. His voice echoed off the cavernous walls, resonating in the silence.

Sheik stared straight ahead, even as the Prince's hand rubbed lightly over his back, coming up to rest on his shoulder. "It is," he agreed, voice quiet. "Especially when there are so many living without."

The Prince exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a snort, and rested his hand on Sheik's shoulder. "Hardly anyone lives in this great hunk of stone. Maybe a hundred, give or take, if you include the servants."

"It could house a thousand," Sheik breathed, reaching up to touch the hand on his shoulder.

And then he remembered what he was there for. There were no guards standing as sentinels in this grand hall of majesty and wastefulness. The doors were shut tight. He didn't have to hide anymore.

He stepped forward, shrugging off the Prince's hand. At the beginning of the night, the guards admitting attendees to the party who had been checking for weapons had completely gone straight over the tiny, finger sized dagger that Sheik had hidden in the back of his belt when he'd been dressing. His hand went to it, feeling the light, yet reassuring weight of it there, tucked into the leather of his belt, metal warmed by the heat of his skin.

He turned around. The Prince had taken his mask off while Sheik's back was turned. His face was free of any obstruction now. Sheik found himself hesitating. There he stood, dressed up for a royal ball in a tail coat and proper leather boots, standing in front of a _prince_ who was looking at him with heavy, warm, dark blue eyes. How in the hell had his life brought him there, to that moment?

"Do you intend to take off your mask?" the Prince asked, raising an eyebrow delicately over his attractive face. Sheik narrowed his eyes and held his ground, doing nothing but watch carefully. He had to do this right. There could be no noise; nothing to alert the soldiers who were stationed nearby, just outside. He would have to get out through the back of the castle. From there, he could circle around, and his getaway horse would be waiting for him at the—

Something caught Sheik's eye again. It was very much the same as before: that swish of a shadow moving its place. He had no idea what it was. Could have been a trick of the light. Could have been a trick of his mind. Either way, as he kept reminding himself, he had to kill the Prince, and he had better do it now.

"What's wrong?" the Prince asked, turning around to look behind him at where Sheik's eyes had flicked to. "What are you looking at?"

While the Prince's back was turned, Sheik's fingers slid up underneath the back of his shirt, and he slipped dagger silently out of his belt.

"I can't see a thing," the Prince continued. "You must be—"

Sheik shot forward, kicking his shin hard into the back of the Prince's knees. The shout of surprise was expected, and Sheik was ready for it. As the Prince went down to his knees, Sheik went down with him; over him, chest to back, his hand over his mouth and his weight pressing him down into a defenseless crouch, blade pressed up against his throat.

So why hadn't he tore through the skin yet? It was usually an instantaneous thing for him. He didn't like dwelling over the fact that he was taking a life, so he always did it quick. He should have sliced through the skin of the Prince's neck as soon as he'd incapacitated him.

Sheik waited and waited, several seconds, expecting himself to just _do _it. He waited past the Prince screaming into his hand. He waited past the struggling beneath him. He wasn't worried about him wrestling free. No, the Prince was young and strong, but Sheik had grown up in hell. He knew how to fight, and he knew how to make others submit to his blade.

So why hadn't he done anything?

"Do you have any idea who paid me to do this?" he heard himself asking.

The Prince just whimpered, trying with all his might to roll and turn and buck Sheik off of him. The hand that Sheik was covering the Prince's mouth with was wet, and he wasn't sure whether it was from spit, tears, or both.

Sheik lowered the blade from the Prince's throat and grabbed his shoulders instead, turning them and pushing him into the marble floor on his back, climbing over him and sitting on his hips, holding him down with his weight. From this position, he had the full advantage. The Prince must have known that, because he soon stilled his struggling, scowling up at him.

And now Sheik remembered why he hadn't killed him yet. The face staring up at him was perfect. It may have been streaked down and soaked with tears, and it may have been full of desperate fear, but Sheik _wanted_ it. He _pitied _it. He wanted to... to keep it. To keep it safe.

But that was stupid. He was stupid. He'd fallen further from the grace of the goddesses than he'd thought.

He ground his teeth together, pressing the blade against the Prince's throat again, internally shuddering at the whimper that escaped from the boy. "Give me your best guess, princeling," he ground out. "I can make this so, so fast for you. You won't have to feel a thing."

The Prince stared at him for a long time, the anger and anguish on his face slowly turning to resignation as the seconds passed. "Aren't you going to take off your mask?" he whispered.

"Tell me," Sheik hissed, hand closing around the Prince's throat, just below where his blade was positioned.

The Prince closed his eyes, and his body grew still and relaxed. "We didn't think... _I_ didn't think that she'd have it done this quickly."

"Who?" Sheik demanded, leering closer.

His blue eyes opened. "My stepmother."

"No," a voice called from across the room. It had come from somewhere high up, in the shadows. "It was not because of her."

Sheik's head snapped up, and the Prince started as well, tipping his head back against the floor in order to see. Keeping his hand on the Prince's throat, Sheik raised his arm and pointed the dagger at the darkness. "Show yourself," he ordered.

There was a faint scuffing sound, like boots running on stone, and then a shape jumped down from one of the lower balconies, rolling as it hit the floor. The shape stood to its feet, stepping out of the shadows and revealing itself as a thin, masked woman. She was clad from head to toe in black fabric, a pair of swords strapped to her back in an X. What little of her skin that Sheik could see was very, very dark, and the eyes that shown out through her mask and cowl were red. Blood red.

She bowed. "Master Sheikah."

Sheik pointed the dagger at her, still keeping a firm hand on the Prince's throat. "Who the fuck are you?" he growled.

She ignored him. Instead, her ruby eyes turned down to regard the Prince, gasping for breath beneath Sheik's hand. "It was my master," she said to him, and then glanced back up at Sheik, eyes unblinking. "He was the one who planted the seed inside the Wife Queen's head to hire you, young Sheikah."

"Your master?" Sheik spat, hackles rising.

The woman blinked, her eyes flicking back up to rest calmly on Sheik. "My master," she said simply. "We needed to find you at a fixed place and time, Master Sheikah. You have many protections woven around you. Our best sorceresses searched the land a thousand times, and still my master could not see you. He couldn't _get_ to you."

"_Master_?" Sheik growled again, feeling the sudden danger like a heavy weight crushing down on his back. What the hell was this?

The woman nodded again, though she made no move to come towards them. "My master gave your name to the Wife Queen, knowing she would be looking for a way to kill the young boy. Then he sent my sisters and me here, on this night, to find you. You are Sheikah," she said, as if it were a perfectly reasonable explanation for all the nonsense she was spouting. "Your people are sacred to the Three, but you," she said, raising a hand and pointing it straight at Sheik's chest. "Somehow you are protected from our scrying and our sight. You are different from the remnants of your tribe that we have found." She blinked slowly, big eyes weighed down with a large amount of inky black makeup. "And so you have become a person of great interest to my master, who has been combing through the few remaining remnants of the Sheikah, in order to find the last pieces."

Sheik didn't answer. This was fucking crazy, and he wanted nothing to do with it.

"Since you are protected from our sights, we needed you to be somewhere where we could find you." She licked her lips, slow and deliberate. "A fixed place and time. So my master had the boy's mother hire a man to find and hire you." She smirked, gesturing to the Prince. "To kill him."

"That bitch is not my mother," the Prince wheezed.

Sheik ignored him. "Why him?" he asked, gesturing to the Prince.

"Once the condition of his stepmother is made public, no one will second guess why he was killed. All fingers will point directly to her. The king will be distraught at the death of his heir. He will have his sorcerers interrogate her, and she cannot lie under the interrogation of a sorcerer. She will confess to it."

"But why focus so much on his death?" Sheik asked. "It could have been anyone. Why him?"

The woman smiled. "To weaken Hyrule."

Sheik looked down at the Prince, who was looking for all the world like a shaken dog, eyes wide and breath coming in gasps. When Sheik realized that was because he had slowly been strangling him, he loosened his grip on his throat a bit. "What condition is the queen in?" he demanded, eyes locked onto the Prince's. "What is she talking about?"

"She's giving birth to a boy," he wheezed. "I—I thought she was going to have me assassinated. I thought she hired _you_."

"I don't _know_ who hired me!" Sheik roared, frustration blazing in him like a spreading fire.

"My master did," said the woman, still gazing at them calmly. "The Sheikah are sacred, and y_ou_ yourself are protected. He has reason to believe you are one of the Three, like him." She inclined her head. "He needs you."

"Three _what?" _Sheik spat.

The woman shook her head, taking a step forward. "This has gone on long enough. My sisters and I will take you now." She looked to her right, at something still hidden in the darkness. "Kill the boy."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Sheik growled. Sensing the danger, he began to stand to his feet, rising above the Prince, who remained flat on his back.

"Look." the Prince whispered up at him. Sheik looked down. Still lying between his feet, the Prince was gazing in the opposite direction of the woman. Sheik looked the same way and saw what the Prince did. More dark-skinned women, all garbed in black, creeping towards them on silent feet, swords drawn.

Sheik looked back at the first woman as he tried to formulate a way of escape while at the same time accounting for the fact that they were surrounded. "What are you playing at?" he growled at her, muscles tensed.

The woman merely held his gaze and took another slow step forward. "Come with us, Sheikah," she cooed. "We need not fight. The boy is the only one who has to die tonight."

"Hey." Sheik looked down. The Prince was staring at him with hard eyes, holding his hand up to Sheik, like he expected help up. Sheik scowled back down at him, making no move. "I'm no good to you on my back, am I?" the Prince snapped, still reaching.

Sheik raised an eyebrow. "Not in this context," he muttered, but offered his hand to the Prince and helped him to his feet.

The Prince brushed himself off, straightening his cloak before flicking his eyes up to glare at Sheik. "First things first," he muttered, and whipped out with his arm, ripping the mask off of Sheik's face. "You try to kill me," he said, throwing it on the ground. "You don't even know who hired you, and you still go ahead and try to kill me." He stomped on the mask with one booted foot, cracking the cheap wooden thing in two. "You seduce me. You kiss me. You _touch my cock_, so I think I should at _least_ get to see your face before these mad women finish what you started and kill me." He peered up at Sheik with sad blue eyes, frowning. "You told a very pretty story, you know. And I can't believe I fell for it, but—"

"Will you shut up?" Sheik snapped, pushing him out of the way so he could face the woman again. He glanced around the room, jotting down mental notes in his head all the while. There were seven women in all, and he certainly couldn't fight them head on, not when each of them had two swords and he only a small dagger. He would lose, there was no doubt in his mind. Perhaps if the Prince could fight... but he didn't have any weapons on him, either. Maybe a small dagger hidden somewhere on his person like Sheik's, for self-defense. But if he actually had one and could easily get to it, why hadn't he used it when Sheik attacked him? It seemed more likely that he had no hidden weapon at all. What if they—

"They're getting closer," the Prince muttered in his ear, tugging on his jacket.

Sheik looked up from the spot of floor he'd been staring at as he thought. The woman who had spoken to them was only a few feet away now. She put her hand up, as if they were wild animals that she was trying not to frighten. "Sheikah," she said, sounding almost impatient. "We will make his death a quick one, if only you agree to come with us without a struggle." She raised her chin, and from that distance, Sheik could see her red eyes harden beneath her dark, heavy lashes. "If you resist, we will kill make him suffer."

Bloody hell.

"I don't think I'm going to make it out of this party alive," the Prince said behind him, his voice thick with fear. "I don't think either of us—"

There was silence. Sheik had been carefully watching the woman in front of them whilst keeping mental coordinates of where he thought the other six stood. But the woman before them had stopped as soon as the Prince had quieted, and she was staring at something behind Sheik with wide, fearful eyes. She took a step back, and then another.

Sheik started to turn his head to see what had frightened her when a huge wave of _something _blew through the room, knocking him off his feet and sending him sprawling onto the floor. Some sort of energy had pulsed from behind him, and he was willing to bet that whatever had released it had been what had frightened the dark-skinned woman. With the wind knocked out of him, he looked up and saw her lying in front of him, motionless. Was she dead? Sheik crawled forward on his belly and felt her pulse, which was still beating faintly. He turned again, still flat on his belly, craning his neck to see behind him. The Prince was still standing, eyes wide and face turned to stone, no doubt from the surprise of it all. He hadn't been knocked down like the rest of them. Whatever had happened hadn't affected him. And it... It hadn't killed Sheik, for whatever reason. It was almost as if the Prince was the epicenter of whatever had washed through the room.

Scrambling to his feet, Sheik whirled around to face the Prince and assumed a defensive position, dagger out. "What did you do?" he demanded, heart racing. But the Prince's mouth only flapped open and closed. He looked dumbfounded. Slowly stepping closer, Sheik noticed he was trembling. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, straightening a bit.

Blue eyes flicked up to find him, searching him for something. They were frightened, and seemed to be pleading at him for something. But for the sake of the goddesses, why? For _what_?

If Sheik ran right now, just ran as far as he could with the money, he was certain that he would be hunted down by the queen and killed, or worse. He... he had to...

Back down the short entrance hall, the heavy front doors burst open, letting in a rush of cold air and a score of heavily armored soldiers. One of them pointed his sword in Sheik's direction. "Prince Link is in here!" he called out behind him.

"Fuck," Sheik cursed. The Prince turned his head from the soldiers back to him, just staring, and it was then that Sheik made his decision. Because something strange had just happened to them. Something that had felt dangerous and raw with power, and it hadn't been _him_ who'd cause it. Those women hadn't ended up unconscious on the floor from nothing. Yes, Sheik had to run; and maybe it was stupid or impulsive, or possibly even selfish, but the stupid little princeling was coming with him, and that was fucking that.

Once Sheik had made his decision, he had only a second to act. He ran up behind the Prince, blade out and at his throat once more. "Stop!" he shouted at the soldiers, just as they reached the mouth of the cavernous chamber. They all came to a crashing halt, the one in the lead watching him carefully. "Take one step further and he's all but dead. The blade is poisoned!" he shouted, trying to get a better hold around the Prince's neck. He took a lurching step towards them. "One nick and he'll be as good as dead!"

The soldier in front put his hands up, much as the dark-skinned woman now lying unconscious on the floor had; like Sheik was a dangerous animal that needed to be calmed. "Whoever you are," the soldier called out. "There is no need for this. Put your weapon down."

Sheik jerked the Prince violently, making him squeak. He wasn't sure whether the squeak was out of fear, pain, or an act to spur the soldiers on and get them to take Sheik down faster. Whatever it had been, Sheik was grateful for it, because the soldiers looked unsure now. "Put _your_ weapons down!" he called.

The soldiers all looked at each other, murmuring amongst themselves. There was some dissension in the rear of them, and then they were breaking apart, doing their best to bow in their cramped formation as the Princess, followed by the King and Queen, walked right through the middle of them.

"What is the meaning of this?" the King demanded, pushing past his daughter and the rest of the soldiers. He was dressed in grand party attire, draped in red velvets and satins; but his mask, if he'd even been wearing one, had been discarded. His face could be seen plainly, and Sheik was surprised to see fear and concern dominating it. He'd never really had a sense of family, after all. It was surprising to see how much they could care for one another. A father for his son.

Sheik didn't quite understand why, but this show of concern only made him angry. He was beyond irritated now. He was beyond _rage. _"The meaning of this," he snarled at the King. "Is that your precious little boy is one wrong move away from being your precious little _memory._"

The King turned back to the soldiers. "Seize him!" he ordered, voice high and desperate.

"Father, no." The Princess put a hand on her father's arm. "Don't underestimate him."

"The blade is poisoned," Sheik said again. "One nick and it will be in his blood, and then it will be a slow but certain death."

"_Please_," the King said. "Just let him go. I'll make you rich! You can leave here unharmed, you have my word! We will all forget this night, just—_please—_don't hurt my boy."

Sheik pushed the Prince forward a bit, still keeping a firm hold on him. Everyone tensed. "How about everyone moves back?" he said. When no one budged, he gave the Prince a little shake, making him cry out again. That got everyone to listen. They all moved back to the walls of the more narrow entrance hall, splitting apart much as the soldiers had when the King, Queen and Princess had entered.

"Stay back," Sheik warned again, starting forward, keeping the Prince positioned in front of him, a perfect human shield. As he made his way to the end of the path made by the divided soldiers, he stopped and turned back. The King was standing there, hand up to stop them even though there was nothing he could do. "Give me passage!" Sheik called, jerking his head towards the sea of party guests who were staring up at them, watching the scene unfold.

The King sighed, hanging his head as he walked forward, standing just behind Sheik on the highest step of the dais. From his close distance, Sheik watched the King take a deep, shuddering breath, working his throat before looking up at the hundreds of faces watching them. "Anyone who makes a move to stop them," he said in a loud, yet defeated voice. "Will face imprisonment."

Instantly, a roar of whispers swept up through the crowd. After all, the King was forbidding them to help his son. Sheik turned to him, inclining his head mockingly. "My Lord," he said. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The Princess appeared behind her father. She took his hand, gazing at Sheik with barely concealed hatred. The King, however, looked like someone had torn his heart out, and the Queen was standing a bit off to the side of them, her face forcibly neutral and controlled.

Without another word, Sheik turned away from them and hauled the Prince down the steps. The crowd split in front of them like a poorly sewn seam stretched too far, each and every Hylian, Zora, and Goron in the courtyard silent as they let him pass by. As Sheik neared the entrance to the courtyard, the soldiers there backing away from him like he bore the plague, he finally let his arm down from around the Prince's neck, grabbing his collar instead.

One glance back at the steps of the castle, and he could no longer see a king or a princess. All he could see was a devastated family who had lost one they dearly loved, standing on the steps of their home.

Sheik swallowed harshly, and then turned and ran, dragging the Prince along behind him like a dog on a leash.

* * *

**Thank you all for the reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following you've done so far. Writing really means the world to me, and it is so, so nice to be appreciated and treated so kindly by all of you.**

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